


Alone Together

by PixieDust291



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom, Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Angels, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Multiple Pairings, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Superwholock, Vampire Sex, Vampires, a little cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieDust291/pseuds/PixieDust291
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has no idea how in such a short time his entire world has been turned upside down, and all because he met this man named Sherlock Holmes. A man that is both brilliant and terrifying, but strangely John is not afraid and finds himself diving head first into Sherlock's mysterious world. A world that is almost like the back stage of some elaborate and wonderful play, full of secrets and dark shadows. They strive to uncover and reveal hidden truths while protecting and saving the unsuspecting humans of the world. However, along the way, John begins to realize the the world and everything around him is far bigger then he could have ever imagined. When a dark entity threatens to take over the earth there is no option but to save it. When faced with extinction, every other alternative is preferable.</p><p>[Abandoned Work – Unfinished and Discontinued]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic was initially inspired by the song 'Alone Together' by Fall out Boy.  
> This fic will be... insane, for lack of a better word. I plan to combine Sherlock, Supernatural, Dr. Who, and some aspects of The Avengers/Thor, with a twist toward the fantasy/scifi direction and into a story that I hope will be an enjoyable squeefest for all those who read it.  
> Kudos or comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> Edit: [Abandoned Work – Unfinished and Discontinued]

John looked down at the slip of paper in his hands before looking back up at the door to the flat once more. Yes, this was definitely the address, 221B Baker Street. He stuffed the paper back into his pocket. This was his last delivery of the day. It was nearly dusk and he was practically starving. He reached up and banged the doorknocker loudly. He then stepped back and waited several moments. The box in his hands grew heavier and heavier as his arms strained to keep holding it. Whatever was in this package weighed a ton. When no one came he impatiently knocked once again. Still nothing. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and was just about to leave when he noticed the doorbell. Attempting once again he pushed the bell. Almost immediately after he pulled his hands away a group of kids road past on their bikes and nearly knocked John over. The teenagers offered no apology. Now even more annoyed, John pushed the bell again; but three times. His rather long and stressful day was quickly turning into a bloody awful night.

“When all of this is done you’ll go out, get a pint, and then go to sleep.” He told himself, though he tried to not think about his dusty, shabby, little flat. The place was hardly worth coming home to. He supposed it didn’t matter. Another month or so and he wouldn’t be able to live in London anyway. He sighed. He needed to find another job, one that paid better then a book store employee and delivery man. 

He turned back to the door when he heard a yell, though he couldn’t make out what it said. Another yell came a moment later. A short time after that there was the sound of pounding footsteps and then the door was roughly yanked open, revealing a tall and very pale-skinned man, wearing nothing but a white sheet. He stayed within the door-frame, keeping to the shadows, as he eyed John with a rather annoyed expression. It was not the man’s near nakedness that had John practically gaping at him, it was his sheer beauty. If there was ever a living definition of gorgeous then by god this man was it.

His short, tussled, curly hair was as black as night or raven’s wings. His face was like a chiseled masterpiece. His body was tall and well toned, from what John could see. But those eyes, they looked hazel-blue in the low light but when the stranger tilted his head John clearly saw the flecks of what looked to be silver. The man’s eyes looked him over from head to toe with undisguised scrutiny. 

“I suppose you have a reason for being here, so make it quick.” 

Realizing that he was staring, John gulped and smiled “Yes, right, um I have a package here for a...” he looked down at the box but couldn’t find the name.

“You are from Hiddleston’s Bookstore.” The stranger said with an impossibly neutral voice. “And you are here to drop off the books I ordered.” He stepped back and then began walking up the staircase to another door. “Come on, you can put them on the chair.”

John paused for but a moment before following the man inside. Normally he was not allowed to enter the homes of the customers, but neither was he about to hand a man in a sheet the box either. As far as John was concerned this stranger needed both hands to keep that sheet firmly in place. He followed the man into a rather spacious, but messy flat. He was about to place the box on the couch when the man made a noise of discontent. “I believe I said the chair, not the couch.”

John stopped and turned, finding the man was standing right next to an old and worn chair. “Right, sorry.” John apologized even though he was mentally rolling his eyes. He walked the few steps to where the chair was and then put the box down. With a sigh he turned to bid the gorgeous stranger a good day, but found the man staring at him intently and just a little more then a few inches from his face. John blinked before his dark blue gray eyes locked with the strikingly colored pupils of the dark haired man. The stranger said nothing for several seconds, but moved his closer, and sniffed. The action alone had John a little weirded out. 

“I hate the smell of humans.” The man spoke randomly.

“Do you?” John said, taking a step back.

“Yes, but your smell is not nearly as odorous or disgustingly pungent as the others.” A dark and very calculative expression came to his face.

John decided that now was as good a time as any to leave. “Well you have your books, so I’ll be one my way.” He nodded. “Have a nice night.” He then ducked out of the apartment, down the stairs, and was out the door. As he held up his hand for a taxi a shiver ran down his spine. 

Several weeks past and eventually John forgot all about the strange incident at 221 B Baker Street. He resumed his work at the shop, helping customers and putting away books. Every day blurred into the next. It was the same thing over and over again. Wake up, go to work, put books on shelves, leave work, get a beer, then go home and rest. On the days he didn’t work, he usually stayed inside his room and never even left the bed. At least his job forced him to go out into the world. 

Then one day, on John’s walk home, he noticed that a part of the street further up was blocked off with tape and the flashing lights of cop cars. He pursed his lips and tried to draw nearer but he still really couldn’t see anything. The stench of decay and blood was thick in the air, though. John could smell and place it clearly. It reminded him of his time in the army. The colder and clearer London air drastically improved the horrible stench of the dead then the hot, dessert, climate of the Middle East. John closed his eyes for a moment and reminded himself that he was happy to be home and away from all that violence. At least that was what he kept telling himself. 

As he turned to walk away he noticed a dark cloaked figure approach and then duck under the police tape. He was followed by the clanking heels of a dark skinned women who practically sneered at him. “If Lestrade sent for you so urgently, then why are you so late showing up?” She practically yelled. The response from the man was quiet and not as volatilized, so John couldn’t hear it. The woman’s face looked even less pleased as she huffed and the man turned to walk away.

It was in that turn, that John finally saw the man’s face. It was the same odd man from the Baker Street flat. The man was walking toward one of the side streets away from the crime scene when he suddenly stopped. A gust of wind blew past John, causing him to grab his jacket tighter. The man turned and his gaze focused on John immediately. In the darkness of the night it was rather hard to see anything clearly, but John was sure that the man’s eyes were a luminous bright sliver, like the moon. He pursed his lips and turned to walk away. It was probably just an effect from the light of the street laps. He sighed and after a moment risked a glance over his shoulder. The stranger was gone. He sighed to himself and turned back, but immediately bumped into something hard.

He cursed as he took several steps back “Bloody hell, sorry about that.” He looked up into the amused face of the stranger. John blinked, looked over his shoulder again, and then back at the man. “Weren’t you...just-”

“The books you gave me were dull and lacked any pertinent substance.” The man’s tone was dripping with boredom and accusation.

John frowned. It was not really his nature to start fights, but he was not about to take the blame for something he didn’t have anything to do with. He was also not on the clock so he need not been overly polite or helpful. “Well I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not the one that ordered them.” The man’s expression turned curious, dare John say a little shocked. His dark eyebrows lowered and he slowly circled John, like some kind of predator. “Would you please stop that?” The man stopped and in the depths of his eyes it seems a spark of interest formed. 

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Tell me, are you afraid?”

John pursed his lips “Not particularly.”

“Why?”

John eyed him up and down once more. This time the man was wearing a long black coat and around his neck there was an indigo scarf. The outfit complimented his beauty in every way as well as made him look intimidating. Though still, John was not afraid. “No offense, but you don’t exactly look like the kind of bloke that would instill fear.”

The man tilted his head to one side as if in thought “That has not always been my experience.” He straightened and stood before John with an almost friendly composure. “Tell me, would you be able to assist me in finding the books I need?”

John blinked “Why, are you planning on coming by the shop tomorrow?”

“Obviously.”

John shrugged “Then I guess it would depend what sort of books you are looking for.”

“I did not ask if you could find them, I asked if you would assist me.”

John eyed the man. The shiver from before ran down his spine again “I...suppose.” The man smiled at that and then started walking away. John watched him for several second before calling “Is that it?”

The man stopped “Is what it?”

“You say you wish to come by the store to have me help you and yet you have not said when you will stop by or even why it has to be me who helps you.”

There was a moment of silence before a smirk came to the man’s face as he spoke “I will stop by tomorrow just before closing. And it has to be you because you are the only thing left that is interesting in this world.” He winked and walked away. John was left staring into the darkness. The shiver crawling down his spine had suddenly turned into an all over heat that left John trembling.

The next day, John spent every hour he worked filled with a sense of dread and anticipation. He watched the clock tick by agonizingly slow. Tick-tock, tick-tock. As it got closer and closer to the time when the man would arrive John began to watch as every patron slowly left the store. As he sat behind the desk and looked out the window at the setting sun a hand was placed on his shoulder. He turned and smiled at his manager. “Tom.”

“You look as if you are waiting for someone, John.” Tom said.

John stretched his arms and leaned forwards “I am. A man was supposed to come in today, but it looks like he isn’t going to show.”

Tom nodded “Why don’t you go on home? I’ll close up tonight.”

The thought of returning to his empty flat was not in the least bit appealing. “No,” he replied “You go home. I’ll close up. Besides, I’m sure Chris is waiting for you.”

How nice it must be, John thought, to have someone who would wait up until you got home. God knows he had tried and failed at several relationships since coming back from Afghanistan. Women were not exactly interested in a man who was distant and melancholy. 

Tom smiled “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” John got up from his seat. “I’ll start putting away the books people got out.” Tom nodded and gathering up his coat, left the shop. 

Sometimes, it was in moments like this that John felt most at peace. There were no people in the shop, just blessed silence. And yet it was not infuriating silence. There seemed to be a hint of whispering in the air. John liked to imaging it was the books talking to one another. Regardless, it was in these moments that John allowed himself to fully relax and feel the most comfortable. He looked at the books in his hand and then wheeled the ladder over, stepping up to the top shelf. He began to slid the books into the bookcase in alphabetical order when the door bell jingled.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed!” John called out, He placed the books down and was about to slide down the ladder when he looked and saw the strange man staring up at him from the ground. John froze, wide eyed. “Did you just come in?” he frowned “You’re late, I hope you know.”

The man looked at the watch on his wrist “By my clock the store was still open for two more minutes.” He looked back at John. “Did I not say I would be here before closing?”

John sighed “Yes, but you’re cutting it a bit short.” He turned back to the books and began putting them away again. “Just let me finish this and I’ll help you find whatever it is you are looking for.”

“Oh I have already found what I am looking for. Now I just need to find some research.”

John stopped in mid action “If you have already found the books then why did you need me?”

“Did I say what I was searching for was books?”

John’s annoyance level was quickly rising. “Do you delight in speaking in riddles?”

The man frowned “I have not said anything that would imply a riddle.”

John mentally growled “What kind of books do you want?”

“I am in need of books of the ancient cult of werewolves or witchcraft, either will do for now. But, I am also in need of some reading material.”

“I do not understand.”

“The nights without distraction are long and boring, though I estimate they will be increasingly less boring now that you are alive again. Regardless, I can not expect you to be with me every second of the night when there is not a case and thus why I will need something that is not boring to read while I am waiting.”

John didn’t know if he understood one word of that sentence “So you’re looking for some light reading then. Well, what genre do you prefer?”

The man gave a dismissive hand motion “It does not matter, as long as it isn’t contrived or melodramatic.” He sighed and started walking up and down the isle, running his fingers along the spines.

“What books have you read so far that you did enjoy?”

The man seemed to think for a second “Harry Potter was predictable and drawn out, but not worthless. There were many parts I enjoyed.”

John brightened. “I see. Then maybe you like fantasy.” He put the last book away and then descended the ladder . He walked over to a shelf and after locating the book, pulled it out. “Here. This is one of my favorites.”

The man accepted the book and then looked at the cover with a raised eyebrow “The Hobbit?”

“Yes, have you already read it?” John asked, still smiling.

“No.” the man answered, turning the book over in his hands. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look like he was against reading the book either.

“Will you need more than one book?”

“Yes, multiple.”

“I could give to the rest of the Lord of the Rings series.”

The man did not accept the offer “What is another personal favorite of yours?”

John frowned in thought “Another favorite of mine? Well... that would be,” he turned around, looking. He then walked down another isle and found it on the highest shelf. He pressed up against the bookshelf and tried to reach it with his hands, but couldn’t. He mentally cursed his height as he tried again. From behind him the stranger crowded in close, almost pressing against John’s back. John froze as the scent of autumn leaves and cool crisp air nearly enveloped him. His body immediately reacted and felt hot all over. John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. When the man moved away he held the book John had been trying to reach in his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

John tried to regain his composure “Yes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is one of my favorite authors. And that series is by far his best work.” John smiled “I suppose I’m overly partial to them because they were the only books I had as a child, that, and my mother named me after one of the characters.”

The man raised his head to look at John curiously “Did she now. What is your name?”

John shrugged “John. My full name is John Watson, just like that character in the book.” He chuckled, a bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

John was silent and then started laughed “No, really.” When he saw that the name was not joining in his laughter he coughed, abruptly stopping his chuckles. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose my mother wasn’t the only one that loved these books then.”

“A great many people do love these novels, but I am the one and only Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock turned the book over in his hands. “I remember Mr. Doyle. He was always very fond of stories and adventure.”

Once again, the man was not making any sense. “I believe you were looking for some other books?”

“Yes, the ancient cult of werewolves or witchcraft. It’s not that big of a rush though, considering I doubt this shop will have what I need.”

John frowned again “Well, I could give it a try but I suppose you’re probably right.” He looked down at the books in Sherlock’s hands. “Do you want me to put those back or-”

“I’ll get them.” When he turned to look at John his gaze was both alluring and disconcerting. His eyes had taken on that silver gleam again. “After all, I have it on your good authority that they are worth reading.”

“Yes.” John answered, though he didn’t know why. He just kept staring straight back at the other man. He was even vaguely aware that Sherlock was getting closer. 

“You should know that I do not waste my time on things that are not interesting.” Sherlock spoke in an almost inaudible whisper. His eyes remained on John's as he continued to move toward him. John tried to move back, but found his back against the bookcase. When he was nearly a breath away, John’s eyes couldn’t help flicking toward the man’s lips and then back up. “John.” A tremor of energy practically sizzled through John’s spine as he heard Sherlock say his name. The way he said it sounded so desperate and longing, like a lover whispering sweet nothings in his ear in the dead of night. “Every time you are born, you are even more adorable.”

John opened his mouth to say something, he couldn’t remember what as Sherlock’s mouth closed over his own. John’s mind screamed even as his body practically melted into the other man. He had never in his life kissed another man and yet here he was. Why did it feel so natural, and why was he enjoying it?! All these little things sent up several red flags in John’s mind, but he ignored them completely in favor of the feel of Sherlock’s mouth. The man’s mouth was not at all like a women’s, soft and yielding. Sherlock’s was firm, supple, and talented. He kissed and nipped at John’s lips before cupping the back of his neck and angling John’s head upwards before gently pushing his tongue past John’s lips. The frightening thing for John was that he allowed it, wanted it, hell he even moaned! What the bloody hell had gotten into him?

He returned Sherlock’s enthusiasm and pressed back with his own tongue. He was definitely glad that no one was in the shop, otherwise their shameless rutting against one another would have been beyond embarrassing. John felt one hand with long, nimble fingers, caress down his back to then grab at his ass. He gasped, giving Sherlock the initiative to practically suck on his tongue. And god did that feel wonderful!

Not wanting to be outdone John’s thrust his tongue inside Sherlock’s mouth and came in contact with something, two things rather, that were long and very sharp. One of them pierced his tongue and he pulled back harshly, covering his mouth. Embarrassment and shame filled him, as well as a twinge of pain. He tasted blood on his tongue. He didn’t look up but rather at the ground. “I...” he didn’t know what to say. What did one say after a heated kiss that neither was expecting? Well, he supposed he might as well stop any future incidence, if there would be any. “I’m sorry, but I’m not actually gay.”

Sherlock looked at him, John could feel it. “Obviously.” His voice was full of sarcasm. 

John looked at him then, face stern “I mean it. I’ve never done anything like,” he gestured between them “what we just did. And I’m sorry but it was a fluke and it will not happen again.” He took a steadying breath. 

Sherlock only smiled at him “I enjoy tea, but that does not mean I do not occasionally prefer coffee.” John chuckled nervously, against his better judgment. He stopped when Sherlock placed a brief momentary kiss on his forehead before turning away. “I’ll see you later Dr. Watson. Tomorrow, same time. Don’t eat dinner because we’ll be going out.”

John opened his mouth to protest when something occurred to him “Wait! How did you know I was a doctor?!”

Sherlock smiled at the door “You’re always a doctor. Time goes on, but some things never change.” Then he left with a swirl of that long black coat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Lunaria/media/tumblr_muqxfkZvep1sv1rf9o1_500_zps7a8f33d4.jpg.html)
> 
> Fanart by the lovely SabyCat, who is also the beta for this story.

_He was running alongside the rest of his squad as they made their way down the deserted, dirt street. His military uniform was suffocating in the hot, humid heat, but he persevered. Their superior officer gave a wave of his hand and with a nod they infiltrated the building. But, the moment John went through the door, gun held high, the scenery around him changed in a flash. The house walls crumbled away to reveal a darkly lit forest. His squad vanished like ghosts in the night. John stopped in his tracks, frozen. What the hell was going on?_

_“Do you mean to stop us?!” came an enraged shout. John was startled and then turned around. A mob of medieval looking villagers, holding flaming torches and a large cross, stood before him with vengeful eyes. John took a step back, lowering his gun. A man stepped forward._

_“You are in league with the monster! Can you not see, John, that he has made you his slave?” John shook his head._

_“I don’t know what you’re taking about!” Fear, pure and boiling, was now rushing through his veins. Though it was not fear for himself, but for someone else._

_The man’s face was grim as he shook his head and then came to stand in front of John. “John, if you will not join us... then we have no choice.”_

_John gave no cry as the blade sliced through his clothing, his skin, and sank deep within his abdomen. When the man twisted the hilt and then sliced upward only a started gasp and animal-like whimper of agony left his lips. He lost his footing, stumbled backward and then fell to the grassy ground. He coughed and tried to calm his sheer panic. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real._

_The mob walked over him, not even giving him a second glance. He watched them leave, tears coming to his eyes. He felt pain, sadness, and an unspeakable sense of terror and guilt. “Sherlock.” The name left his lips as he tried to get to his feet but slipped on the growing pool of his own blood. His hands and clothes stained crimson as he closed his eyes, his vision growing dark. Through the ringing in his ears, he was sure he had heard Sherlock’s voice yelling his name._

John awoke with a vicious gasp that caused him to start coughing. He rolled to his side and nearly fell out of his bed. He tried to take several deep breaths and managed to calm down. The coughing fit passed and he quickly got to his feet, stumbling to his bathroom. He leaned over the sink as a wave of nausea overtook him. He took slow, deliberate breaths as he tried to settle himself. When he was sure he had regained some control, he turned on the faucet and allowed the cold water to run over his hands. He then ran his hands over his face before looking at himself in the mirror. Bloody hell, he looked like death warmed over. To add insult to injury, his alarm went off at exactly that moment.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The day went by at an almost miserable crawl. John found himself glancing at the clock every few minutes. He was filled with an odd energy and eagerness, the likes of which he had not experienced in a long time. Though he told himself the only reason he kept his eye on the time was that he wanted to know when Sherlock was to arrive, so that he could give the man a piece of his mind. He had, after all, basically walked out of the store without paying for those books. The fact of it was still insulting to John, because he had not realized it until he was already at his flat and tossing in his bed, since he couldn’t sleep. 

Tom also seemed to notice his peculiar fascination with the clock in the front of the store, but being the polite man that he was, he did not ask John about it. At lunch, John practically felt as if he was crawling out of his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see were flashes of what seemed like memories, or a vignette from some dark fantasy movie. He didn’t know what to make of them and yet they felt so intimately familiar. He didn’t know what was going on and for his own sanity, he pushed the thoughts away, preferring to contemplate his strange attraction to Sherlock Holmes. John had, until very recently, very much preferred women. Sure he admired a good looking bloke now and again, just like women may look at one another in envy, but he had never admired a man so much that it had caused him to think ‘I want to shag that.’. And yet here he was fantasizing and flustered over Sherlock, a man.

Of course being a doctor, John had known that human sexuality was not so cut and paste as society lead people to believe, but he had always reflected on himself as being strictly straight. Then, in walked Sherlock Holmes, with his cool up-turned coat collar and high cheek bones and suddenly John’s neglected libido was raging through his blood stream. He wondered if there was a term for his current sexual dilemma. He casually eyed some of the young women that walked by the register. Yup, still found girls attractive. He then looked to the men. Attractive, but not in a stimulating way. So was it only Sherlock that was the absolute exception? John wouldn’t be surprised. He had the feeling that Sherlock was the exception to a lot of things in the world. 

His internal roller coaster of thoughts kept him occupied well into just before closing time, when Tom came up and brought him out of his reverie. “Are you ready to go home?”

John looked to the books stacked up in the rolling bin. “It’s quite alright, you go on home. I’ll stay after again.”

An almost unearthly glow seemed to enter Tom’s eyes “Are you meeting your date again?”

John stuttered “I’m not- It’s not a date! And how did you know?”

Tom smiled “When I opened the shop this morning, I could practically feel the power radiating off the furniture.” John blinked in response and said nothing as Tom gathered up his coat. Had it become the fanciful pass-time of everyone around him to speak in vague and strangely cryptic terms? “Have fun with your date and see you on Monday.” Tom waved a hand.

“I’m not his date!” John yelled after him and rose from the desk. He rolled the bin down the isles and started putting away the books. With every hard bound cover he touched, he read the title and reflected on the sheer number of books there were in the world. He was about to place a children's book on the lower shelf, when a flickering of black, in the back corner, caught his eye. He paused, removed the book, and then stared at the corner, but saw nothing. Curious, he reached his hand in and groped at the darkness, surprised when his fingers closed around something tangible. He slowly pulled his hand out and turned his palm upward, unclenching his fist. At first, all he saw was a small, palm sized, glob of what looked to be dust and hair. He smiled “A dust bunny.” His expression changed, however, when the blob moved and two little pink crystal-like eyes opened. The ball rose and shifted, taking form with two small front feet and two long back feet. From the top, of what John assumed was the head, two rounded protrusions extended outward. The creature lifted its head and sniffed the air and then proceeded to paw cautiously at John’s palm. When the creature noticed his gaping shocked face it tilted its head to one side in puzzlement. It looked very rabbit-like in its appearance, except for the ears, which resembled the shape of leaves more than anything else. 

“It’s wondering why you took it out of its nest.”

John turned, and saw Sherlock walking toward him. He had not heard the bell on the front door chime, signaling an arriving visitor. But then again, hardly anything ever did what it was supposed to do anymore. John looked back at the animal, still not sure if he was in reality or some strange dream. “You... do see this, right?”

Sherlock smiled “Of course I do.” He leaned down and plucked the creature from John’s palm and then turned to place it on the bookshelf. The creature looked at them in question, before squeezing its way between two books and then disappearing without a trace. John quickly moved the books apart and looked between them but the creature was gone.

“What was that!?”

“A dust bunny.” Sherlock said conversationally as he looked around with a semi-bored expression. “They are quite common, especially in places like this where dust is a problem. They eat dust you see. However the more they eat, the more their size increases, which is why they are considered a pest to those who can see them.” He fingered the spine of a book “I would assume Mr. Hiddleston allows them to live here because they keep the books clean and he had probably enchanted the building.” Then Sherlock turned his full attention to John. “You are confused.”

John shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe his ears “Brilliant deduction there. You’re not honestly-”

“We have been through this many times before, John. I tell you about the world you do not see, you panic a little, then come to grips with it, and then...” He trailed off as his gaze fell to the floor. He sighed “It’s tedious and a waste of a great deal of time that we could be spending together, so let us not continue that pattern.” He leaned against one of the shelves. “You have not seen the dust bunnies before because you could not see them; magic must be present in the body and awakened for magical beings and those of mystical persuasion to be observed. Without that, everything else just appears as if it is not really there. Like ghosts, if you prefer to think of it as such. You are able to see them now because you have been reunited with me and my kiss has awakened the magic within you.” He waved a hand “Do not fret, your magic level is average at best and certainly not enough to be of any real significance. Oh, don’t take it wrong, practically everyone has average magical capabilities.” John pursed his lips. “In the days to come, you will notice a great many other things that you were otherwise blind to before. I am sure I am correct in my assumption that your memories of our past lives are returning, or rather they were your past lives.”

John stared at him, but slowly nodded. Sherlock pressed his hands together just under his chin as he began pacing back and forth. “How much do you remember?”

“I...” John shook his head. This was insane. “Past lives? What are you going on about?! Are you on drugs!”

“No, John, I am not. Besides, a good majority of drugs do not affect me anyway. Now what do you remember?” His gaze was demanding and almost feral. 

A shiver of excitement and pleasure ran down John’s spine, regardless of whether he wanted it to or not. Why did that keep happening? “I...remember being with you... intimately being with you. But every time I see myself I’m different.” 

Sherlock nodded “And.” He looked expectant and eager.

“And then...” John started, his throat feeling tight. He remembered the vividness of the stabbing with the blade, the suffocating pain and fear. “And then, I feel myself dying.”

Sherlock’s expression changed; obviously that was not what he was hoping for. His eyes grew cold, distant, and his entire demeanor changed as he visibly closed himself off. “Yes.” He said flatly, as if he were a machine.

John immediately felt sad and sympathetic, as if he had done something wrong. He decided to change the subject. He licked his lips as he tried to think of what he wanted to ask. “So... it was destined that we would meet?” he gestured between them “Like this?”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered again in the same dead-pan voice.

John frowned and walked forward, grabbing Sherlock’s arm. “Sherlock.” Sherlock looked at him, surprised by the contact. They stared at one another, never looking away from the other’s eyes. This went on for several moments before a smile returned to Sherlock’s face. 

“Yes John, it was destined.”

“So,” John tried to search for the right words “Every time we are born, it does not matter where or how, we will always find each other?”

“Yes John, though it is you who is reborn.”

“How?”

“I can not exactly explain the reasons of the universe, however I have it on good authority, from another doctor, that time and space itself is not exactly linear.”

“Then what is it?”

“I believe he said something along the lines of ‘wibbly wobbly timey wimey’, but that phrase is not only unscientific, it is also utterly infantile.” Sherlock sighed and then raised a brow “You’re taking all this surprisingly well, in contrast to some of your other times.”

John tried to see if he could remember those ‘other times’, but nothing came to mind. He licked his lips again “On the contrary, I'm trying very hard not to loose my mind.” Honestly it was only his military training that was keeping him together. That, and this was the only real explanation he had to explain everything people had been saying for the last several days and the strange lint creature he had just seen and touched. Unless, he had somehow consumed a drug without his knowledge. But, due to his nervousness throughout the day, he hadn’t had anything to eat and all he had really had to drink was water. It was extremely hard to drug water, because even the most tasteless chemicals often distorted the texture or bland palatability of water, thus making them detectable by taste.

Sherlock studied him and then a look of admiration came to his face “You’re an army doctor.”

John paused “Uh, yes. You already knew this.”

“In all your past lives you were a doctor, yes, but never one that had the combat and training that a soldier would also have.” His grin was a little too pleased. “This will prove incredibly useful.” He patted John’s shoulder “Come along, we are wasting moonlight.” John looked at him in confusion. He watched as Sherlock went to the door and then held it open expectantly “Coming?” His tone was commanding and yet also annoyed. John didn’t like it, and so he folded his arms.

“Where, exactly, are we going?”

“There has been another murder. I already texted Lestrade saying I will be there.” From the glow of the street lights, John was just able to make out a light pink tinge to Sherlock’s pale cheeks. “However, I thought this would be as ample time as any to finally bring you up to speed and have you accompany me.” Sherlock had stopped by to get him before going to a crime scene? Why did that make John feel so... cherished?

“So, that’s it then?”

“Is what it?”

“You just... come into my life, tell me that – what? – magic and such exists and now I’m supposed to blindly follow you to some crime scene?” He took a steadying breath. “Give me one reason why.” He wanted to go, and he knew that Sherlock probably already knew that he wanted to go.

Sherlock studied him and then in a few strides, he moved away from the door and came to stand directly in front of John. A hand gripped John’s right shoulder and then slid down the length of his arm in an intimate gesture. He brought his face close, mouths almost kissing, but not quite.

“Because you are the Watson to my Holmes.” Sherlock whispered as his breath ghosted over John’s lips. When he pulled away, they looked into each other’s eyes. “Ready to come with me, and see the world for what it really is?”

John gulped “Oh, god yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

They got out of the cab and as they approached the yellow tape, a woman that John recognized as the same he had seen before, walked up. Her heels made an obnoxious clicking sound across the pavement. She moved to stand in front of Sherlock, but he easily ignored her and ducked under the tape before holding it up for John to follow him. The gesture was not lost on the woman, but she did seem to be flabbergasted by it. She looked from John to Sherlock and then back again. When John made a move to duck under she apparently remembered her position of authority and held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s bad enough you are here, freak.” The women gave Sherlock a disapproving once over, though it looked a little forced. “Who is this?” She smirked “Did a stray puppy follow you home?”

“Sergeant Donovan, I am sure that even you are well aware that werewolves have not been enslaved for at least a century. And as you can clearly see John is as human as you are so if you wouldn’t mind I would like to speak to Lestrade. He’s the only one of you that is tolerable.” Sherlock’s tone was both cold and cutting to the bone. Yet his voice and the way he spoke still whispered of sin and feverish midnight couplings. John had never heard him use that tone before. Or at least Sherlock had never used it when talking to John. Did that make him special? John was rather quickly beginning to think it did. Sherlock’s gaze never left John’s as he continued to hold the tape up. “Come along, John.”

That one sentence seemed to resonate in John’s mind. He felt like he had heard it before, several times before in fact. It felt as if his soul was being pulled, forever tied to something he could never escape. He ducked under the tape and followed Sherlock down the street before turning into a dark alley that lead down to the next street over. 

The smell hit John long before he even saw the body. Several people were around them, all wearing blue containment suits as to not contaminate evidence. Yet surprisingly, to John at least, Sherlock did not put one on. The people they passed seemed to either ignore Sherlock entirely or watch him with barley contained resentment and fear. Did they know something John did not? John glanced at the back of Sherlock’s head. He was already relatively sure Sherlock wasn’t human, but what was he? He remembered the kiss; the feel of sharp teeth. A vampire? On another note, if Sherlock wasn’t human, John could only assume the police around him knew about it. If that was the case, then was the police force aware of supernatural beings and yet not telling the public about it? It seemed wrong, and yet John could kind of understand why. Telling the masses, that creatures that were created to almost exclusively pray on humans existed, was likely to cause mass hysteria. 

A man who had been standing and observing the scene turned as they approached. He was middle aged with some partially graying hair. He looked human enough, but unlike the others he approached Sherlock in an almost causal and yet familiar way. He did not look scared or angry, more relieved. “Sherlock.” He smiled.

Sherlock gave him a nod in greeting. “Another man, I presume?”

“Yes, just like the others.” The man then seemed to notice John. “Oh, hello. Who is this?”

“He’s with me.” Sherlock answered curtly, as if that was reason enough.

The man frowned slightly, looking at John “You’re with him?” 

“For the moment, I suppose so.” John nodded, not knowing really what else to say. He was a tad skeptical as to what they were doing here at all.

“John this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock introduced.

“John?” A revelation seemed to come over Lestrade’s face. He nodded and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Anyway, yes.” He turned, allowing John to finally see the body in question, though, there was not much of a body left. It had been mutilated pretty badly and the blood was still a wet, sticky puddle under the corpse. “Young male, probably a university student, judging by the books in his bag.” Lestrade offered as Sherlock walked forward. He walked around the body and the blood. He didn’t touch, merely just looked at it with calculative eyes and an almost vacant expression. 

“No prints or evidence?”

“Yup, just like the others.”

“Others?” John asked.

“Yes, there have been two more before this one.” Lestrade elaborated. “We think it’s a serial killer-”

“Wrong.” Sherlock cut in without even looking up. He knelt down “This is a serial killer but it isn’t human. So far, all the victims have been young and male, killed in the same way, always at night, but there is no evidence ever left behind.” He outstretched a hand and ran it over the boy’s coat then brought his fingers to his nose.

“But what makes you believe this is something paranormal and not just a very skilled killer?” Lestrade’s immediate acceptance and lack of balking at the word ‘paranormal’ had John believing in his prior suspicion about the police.

“It is not only important how they die, but why.” He stood. “This boy was on his way home from a night of heavy drinking at a local pub. He, or the people around him, must have been severely intoxicated because some beer was spilled on the sleeve of his jacket. Cheep quality. It would take a lot to get him drunk. There is a smearing of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. Obviously he was receiving attention from a woman. However, this woman was not his girlfriend.”

Lestrade blinked “What? How do you-”

“The keychain on his backpack.” Sherlock went on, undeterred. He pointed to the boy’s backpack where a small Hello Kitty keychain hung down. “A straight male of his age is very unlikely to willingly have or even display a token such as that. Therefore it was given to him by a girl, but if the girl held no special interest for him he would have passed it on to someone else. Though this girl, as I said, was not the one with him last night.” He pointed to the right pocket of the boy’s jeans. “His pocket is filled with condoms, not something one does when they have faithful intentions. Statistically speaking, most young men only carry protection when they know they will become sexual and they are not sure if their partner has protection. If he was having relations with the woman he is dating, that knowledge would have already been known to him.” Sherlock sighed “He was on his way home when he was attacked. The way the body was found is too contained, so there was no struggle. Meaning the man either knew his attacker, or was not threatened by them.” He took in the startled and fearful expression permanently frozen on the man’s face. “At least not at the time.”

Sherlock then turned to look at John, expectantly. “What do you think?”

John let out a breath before shaking his head “That...was fantastic.” He seemed at an utter loss for words.

A smile came to Sherlock’s lips “Yes, but I was more referring to what you could tell me about the body.”

A slight blush came to John’s cheeks as he stepped forward and kneeled down. “Well... I can definitely smell the alcohol.” He checked the boy’s throat, turning it slowly. “It looks like he choked on his own blood.” He allowed his gaze to take in the rest of the boy. God, he looked so young. Too young to die such a brutal death. His gaze had just passed the man’s torso when John noticed the button to his jeans was undone, and the zipper was halfway undone. He glanced to Sherlock, questioning if the observation was relevant. Sherlock looked right back at him, smiling. He had seen it to, and knew something he wasn’t telling. Sherlock turned to Lestrade “I’ve seen enough. Thank you.” He waited for John to rise to his feet before he began walking.

“Wait, is that all?” Lestrade called out.

“Despite what you may want to believe, inspector, this is a paranormal case.”

“Alright fine, but what is doing this?”

“That is what I intend to find out.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

John looked out the window of the cab and up at the sky. The black blanket of night was slowly giving way to the blue, yellow, and pink rays of the morning sun. He absently clenched and unclenched his hands. This did not, however, go unnoticed by Sherlock. The man was always observant, even when it seemed he wasn’t paying attention.

He took a steadying breath “Alright, you have questions.”

John pursed his lips “Yes....well,” he turned to look at Sherlock “First off, what were we doing at that crime scene? Why did they even let you in?”

Sherlock raised a brow “Come now John I would think that would be obvious.”

John considered this for a moment before saying “You’re a detective of... the supernatural?”

“Consultant of the supernatural.” Sherlock clarified. “Whenever the human police are out of their depth, which is always, regardless if the case is paranormal or not, they consult me.”

John gulped silently. Sherlock had distinctly referred to the police as being ‘human’, thus insinuating that he was different and not like them. John wanted to ask, wanted to confirm, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not to mention the cab driver was already looking up at his mirror to stare at them perplexedly. John noticed then how the morning sun rays danced and illuminated his face. He looked slightly annoyed when the light hit his eyes but nothing out of the ordinary happened. Alright, so maybe Sherlock wasn’t a vampire. Regardless John decided to change the subject. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

John just stared at him “Home?”

“Yes, that is what I said.”

John shook his head “To which home are you referring to? The bookstore? I don’t live there I just work there and I have a flat-”

“Yes, you should get around to packing up your stuff. If you find it difficult to get out of your lease I’ll handle it.”

“...I’m sorry what?”

“You’re moving in with me, John.” Sherlock beamed just as the cab pulled over on a side street. Before John could say anything more, Sherlock was up and out of the car. John sputtered as he frantically got out and followed him. 

“I’m what? Sherlock we've only just met. I can’t- I won’t move in with you.” Sherlock ignored him as he walked across the sidewalk and up to a door before turning and smiling to John. John looked up, taking note of the address. “221 B.” He looked to the street sign “Baker street.” A sudden twinge of pain sparked at the back of John neck, right where his skull would attach to his vertebra. The address flashed within his mind, different signs with different fonts. As suddenly as it came the pain was gone. Leaving John moaning in its wake. 

“Remember?”

He looked to Sherlock and sighed “Did you always live on a Baker street?”

“In one form or another.” He opened the door. “Come, I think you’ll find it most agreeable.” Against John’s better judgment, he followed, it just came so naturally. Despite everything that he had seen and what was happening, John found he was surprisingly calm. He knew he shouldn’t be. And yet here he was and he felt...safe. He followed Sherlock up some stairs and then through a doorway into a rather large flat. He had seen the place before but now he was more keenly aware of his surroundings.

The place was definitely better then what he was currently living in. The place had quite a bit of space for furniture and a rather adequate kitchen. Despite the flat’s messy state and rather clustered furnishing that was all Sherlock’s, John was sure, he felt an immediate attraction. He felt comfortable and content as if this were his home. John paused; he couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt that way.

“I know you don’t have much in the way of possessions where you live.” Sherlock began, gaining John’s attention. “You can move in tonight if you wish.”

John let out a breath “Are you serious? Did you not hear anything I said outside?”

Sherlock’s eyes hardened and he stepped closer “Don’t be stupid John. I know exactly how you are feeling and you know, as well as I, that you belong here.”

John was not about to be intimidated. He glared at Sherlock “I belong?” John scoffed “And what makes you so sure I belong with you?”

“Because you are my mate and I refuse to spend one more night without your company.” John stopped, completely taken back by that. Sherlock’s face fell, realizing that he had probably said the wrong thing. “John...” He cursed under his breath before looking back into John’s eyes, his conviction renewed. “I told you before that you are the only one that was reborn. I don’t die, John. At least, not the way human’s do.” His eyes darkened even as his expression became distant. “I live John, even after you die I continue living. Waiting for you to be reborn into this world.” He closed his eyes. “The last time I saw you, Britain was in the middle of World War II.” He took a steady breath as he stepped back. “I would like it very much if you moved in immediately.”

John stared at him for several moments, his mouth slightly ajar. He didn’t know what to say. What did one say in this situation? He tried to grab onto anything he could change the subject with so that he could have more time to think. “Um... mate?” He inwardly slapped himself. Of all the things to ask, oh well. Might as well ask it now “I assume you are not referring to a good friend?”

Sherlock frowned “No, I mean it as a synonym for partner, significant other, or lover.”

“I-I’m not actually gay.” John said without thinking.

Sherlock smirked and without hesitation replied “The bulge in your pants when I kissed you indicates otherwise.”

“Sherlock?” came a slightly withered female voice. Sherlock moved away as a rather old woman came up the stairs. She smiled when she saw Sherlock, but then stopped when she saw John. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all.” Sherlock walked toward her and gestured with his arm. “Ms. Hudson this is Dr. John Watson. He’ll be moving in shortly. John, this is Ms. Hudson, the land lady.”

John smiled and offered his hand “A pleasure to meet you.”

Ms. Hudson seemed to giggle “It’s nice to meet you too, dear.” She noticed the apartment out of her peripheral vision and sighed. “Oh Sherlock, look at the mess you have made.” She turned back to John with an apologetic look. “So what do you think, then, Dr. Watson?” She asked. “There is another bedroom upstairs, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

John tried to think of an answer. If he said yes then that would mean he was seriously considering moving in with Sherlock. Wasn’t he? He looked around the flat. It would defiantly improve his living situation. He wouldn’t have to dread coming home to an empty and suffocating silent room. In fact, in the short time that John has known Sherlock Holmes, already his life is infinitely better, albeit more complicated and definitely more dangerous, but still better. More excitement. Less boring. And then there was Sherlock himself. John looked to him and saw that he was watching with a rather curious expression. John considered simply saying he wanted more time to think about it, but he already knew what his inevitable decision would be. God, help him. Still, he was not about to completely accept everything, just because it seemed right.

John cleared his throat “Of course we’ll be needing two bedrooms.” John looked to Sherlock, his eyes conveying his thought of ‘Fine, I’ll stay here with you. But, I’m not going to immediately just let you shag me.’ Sherlock’s responding expression, a little to John’s unease, was casual, yet the corner of his mouth turned up as his eyes slowly looked up and down John’s body. When his gaze returned to John’s, his right eyebrow quirked upward as if to say ‘Is that a challenge?’

Ms. Hudson stammered. “Oh, don’t worry, there’s all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.” She smiled as she made her way out of the flat and down the stairs, leaving Sherlock and John alone. As she left, John momentarily reflected on how quickly his life had changed. He sighed and turned around, taking a seat in a chair just after fluffing a British flag pillow. “If we are going to live together, you are going to have to be completely honest with me.” Sherlock did not blink nor move as he waited for John to continue. “What are you? I know you’re not human.”

Sherlock stared at him when such an unwrapped expression. “What do you think I am?”

“You said you were long lived. I at first assumed vampire, though my knowledge of the supernatural is limited to what is popular and...” he paused.

“And?”

“And you don’t appear to have any problem with sunlight.” 

Sherlock walked over to lie on the couch. “Very perceptive John.” He smiled “You’re conclusion was correct. I am a vampire.” John’s eyebrows furrowed. Before he could ask the next obvious question Sherlock continued. “Most everything about vampire lore is fiction, not fact.” His expression soured a bit when he added “Especially the most recent fanciful fictional works.”

“So what is true then?”

“It is true that we need blood, however, we do not feed as often as the myths lead people to believe. Blood is like a drug, John. If a vampire indulges too much, he has a high risk of getting caught and therefore killed. Biologically, we only need to consume approximately two to four pints of blood every week.”

John frowned “The human body can withstand losing up to two liters of blood without dying. That’s approximately four pints so-”

“So why do the people vampires drink from die?” Sherlock finished, giving him an inquisitive look. “Simple John, normal vampires do not kill their prey. Only rogue or exiled vampires do. All vampires are required to be a member of a covenant and each covenant has regulations and rules to keep both vampires and humankind safe. The covenant protects the vampires that belong to it in exchange for absolute loyalty and obedience. They discourage vampires from feeding from the human population and instead offer preserved blood packets as compensation. Of course, these blood packets can only do so much and thus some still go out and feed from humans, but they are forbidden to kill or consume blood from any human in a way that would cause the human uncontrollable pain or death.”

John assumed that a vampire’s bite was probably very painful. Two long sharp fangs sinking through skin and into artery could only be excessively painful and terrifying. “There is a way to take blood without causeing pain?”

“The key word is uncontrollable pain, John. Sharp fangs piercing flesh will always be painful. But yes, there are ways, though most of them are strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, one way is that the prey must be in a state of heightened arousal.”

“So... sex.” He wasn’t phased or embarrassed when he said it. After all, he was a doctor.

“Yes. Sexual intercourse increases blood pressure and changes the body’s perceptive response to any stimulus. In a sense, pain becomes pleasure. In addition to intercourse making feeding for the vampire easier, it is far more agreeable for the human as well.”

“Still, the covenant discourages drinking from live humans.”

“Even in today’s world, John, if a vampire were discovered it would have undesirable consequences. There are people out there that would wish to kill us as much as any other manner of less civilized creatures.”

John nodded, though he seemed a little confused “So what else is there?”

“We are not affected by sunlight or crosses, though holly water does sting a bit. Some of us have mental abilities. Yes we are immortal, we do have reflections, wooden stakes do not affect us, and the only way to kill us is to decapitate us and then burn our corpses before we can regenerate.” He glanced momentarily in John’s direction before saying “And we mate for life.”

John was silent. He really did not want to address that particular topic now. He licked his lips “What about garlic?”

“Oh please, if that were true then the Italian mafia would have died out long ago. Though garlic, when ingested, does make human blood rather unpalatable.”

John was silent a moment longer before he frowned “Why? Why do you need to drink blood?”

Sherlock frowned. In the past, John had never asked that question. A slow smile came to his lips. Oh John, never boring and loyal John. “Hemoglobin. Vertebrate blood is comprised of hemoglobin, which are iron-containing oxygen transport proteins. You can say all vampires suffer from a condition that is like sickle cell anemia, a disease where the blood cell does not form properly and thus cannot transport oxygen.”

“Yes, I know what sickle cell anemia is.” John said curtly.

“Vampires must drink blood in order to replenish our bodies with active blood cells. When active blood cells are in our bodies we can breath and our heart beats normally. It takes about a week for our bodies to start feeling the effects again and then by two to three weeks most are desperate to feed again. That is why it is important for us to feed regularly. Fresh blood is best, but packaged blood will do.”

“I don’t understand how the blood helps when it goes to your stomach.”

“It doesn’t. You know how humans have a valve that separates the air pipe from the esophagus.” John nodded “Vampires have an additional channel that leads to a specialized organ that secretes the blood directly into our heart.”

John leaned back in his chair, running his hands over his face. This was a lot of information and once and it would take some time to sink in. “Alright, what about the boy we saw earlier today? Was he killed by a vampire?”

Sherlock turned away to look up at the ceiling, pressing his palms together and then placing his hands under his chin. “No.” he sighed “If it were a physical being it would leave by a scent or something tractable that I would be able to pick up.”

John blinked “Physical? Are you saying the murder is...a ghost?”

“Possibly, or a demon,” he shook his head, immediately disregarding what he said. “No. To do something like that would require a powerful demon and that kind of presence in London would not have gone unnoticed. It would have been coupled with previous and obvious signs.”

“So a ghost?”

“It is our only remaining solution.” Sherlock leaned up, stood up on the couch, and then stepped down to walk across the room and look out the window.

“What about the state of the boy’s clothes.”

Sherlock smirked “I was pleased that you noticed that too. In fact, all the bodies have shown similar signs like that one. Thus, indicating that they were in a state of sexual arousal before they died.” He pursed his lips. “John would you hand me the computer.” John looked around him, assuming the computer was near him. When he finally did spot the computer it was on the table right next to where Sherlock was standing. John frowned, looked at Sherlock, and then with a sigh got up and handed it to him. The moment his fingers touched the machine he was frantically typing. The flat went completely quiet, save for Sherlock’s incessant typing. 

John waited and waited, but when it seemed Sherlock had somehow slipped into an almost catatonic-like state, he got up and headed for the kitchen, deciding to make some tea while he waited. It took him a while to find everything in the kitchen, but about twenty minutes later he emerged and set a cup down in front of Sherlock. The vampire didn’t even seem to notice it. He waited around a while longer and actually nodded off for a bit. When he woke, Sherlock was still glaring at his computer screen.

“Any luck?” John asked.

“Yes and no.” Sherlock answered distractedly.

John looked out the window and noticed the setting sun. He sighed. If he was going to sleep here tonight then he might as well get a move on. He stood up, noticing the cup he had given Sherlock was still untouched. “I’ll... go get my things and...” he shrugged “Be back shortly.” He straightened his coat and made his way for the door.

“John.” He stopped and turned. Sherlock didn’t look up from his computer screen as he said. “Be back before nightfall.”

John couldn’t stop the chuckle “I’m not a young man Sherlock. I don’t think you have to worry about me.”

“Whether I do or do not is irrelevant.” He finally turned, meeting John’s eyes. “I will regardless.” He added, more softly.

John’s heart practically swelled within his rib cage as a slight blush came to his cheeks. “I...um” he cleared his throat. “Before nightfall, right.” Then he turned and left.


	4. Chapter 4

There wasn’t much in his little flat, so it didn’t take that long to pack up. Stuffing what he owned into a duffel bag he then informed his landlord that he would not be returning. He made up some excuse about having to ship out again at a moments notice. Being in the army did have its perks. When he made his way to the sidewalk he had every intention of hailing a cab to take him straight to Baker Street. It would only be a few hours before the sun was completely gone and John had the feeling that if he truly wasn’t back by then Sherlock would be most unpleasant when he did arrive. He momentarily thought about that, but all thoughts were striped from his mind when a female voice said “Dr. Watson?”

He jumped and turned, seeing a particularly beautiful woman standing directly behind him. Where had she come from? She was busily typing away on her phone and did not even look up at John or acknowledge him. Her long voluptuous brown hair framed her face in an almost heart shape. John stared at her for a moment before looking around them. There was absolutely no one else on the street. 

He pursed his lips “Yes, I am Doctor Watson.”

Before he could even ask the woman her name, she handed over her phone “It’s for you.” She said simply as if he needed no other information.

John looked at the offered phone and then back at her before hesitantly taking it. He stared at the screen and then cautiously brought the mobile to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dr. Watson. It is always a pleasure to see you again.”

John frowned “I’m sorry, who is this?” He was startled as a sleek black sports car pulled up on the curve directly next to him. The woman walked over and opened the door before staring at him expectantly. “Get in the car Dr. Watson. I would make some sort of threat but that would be pointless considering I could not follow through with any of them. Besides, I know you’re a curious man.” There was a soft chuckle on the other end.

John eyed the car “I’m not curious enough to willingly walk into an obviously dangerous situation.” 

“Oh come now, we both know that’s not quite true. You already know about Sherlock and yet you are still moving in with him.” John was speechless. “Get in the car, John. We have much to talk about.” The line went dead. John lowered the phone from his ear and stared at it for a moment before looking at the woman, who still stared at him with placid eyes. 

With a muffled “Bloody hell.” He handed the phone back to her and then slid into the car. She got in after him and the moment the door was shut the driver was speeding off down the narrow London streets. John leaned against the plush leather seats and after admiring the gorgeous car interior it occurred to him that his life was now something like a dark fantasy story, crossed with some spy novel. He wondered, jokingly, if it could possibly get any weirder. He glanced at the woman across from him, who was once again texting away. 

He licked his lips, wondering if he should at least make an attempt at polite conversation. “Um...Hello.”

She looked up, briefly “Hi.”

There was a long and awkward pause as he stared at her, waiting for her to perhaps say something else. When it was obvious she wouldn’t, he tried again. “So what’s your name then?”

She made a sound as if she was thinking before answering “Anthea.”

John was not a stupid man “Is that your real name?”

She looked to him again, an amused and yet pitying smile on her face “No.”

John sighed as he looked back and over his shoulder out the rear window and then out the front window. By god this was going to be a stressful and seemingly boring car ride. “I’m John.” He said absently.

“Yes, I know.” There seemed to be a hint of amusement in her voice.

John settled further into his seat “Any point in asking... where I am going?”

Another smile spread across her full lips “None at all... John.” The way she said his name had an almost familiar lilt to it. As if she had said the name before, and not because it was a common name. Her expression changed as well and seemed to be saying ‘You are too adorable.’ John pursed his lips and began to wonder if there were more people in this city that knew him than he knew himself.

“Ok.” He answered, effectively ending all conversation.

The drive was not particularly long, though to John it felt like an eternity. When they pulled up and stopped in an abandoned warehouse, John was more then a little suspicious. He licked his lips again and then began ruffling around in his duffel. Anthea watched as he pulled out his gun and tucked it behind him, pulling his coat over to conceal it. He noticed her, and waited for her to attack or sound an alarm. She only smiled. “It won’t do you any good.” She said simply as she got out of the car. John blinked at her words but followed her.

The moment he stepped out of the car, he looked forward. Illuminated by the car's headlights was a man who looked no older then John himself. He stood straight and proud, wearing a very well tailored business suit. His legs were crossed and he was leaning against a cane. The pose reminded him of something, ah yes. Back in Afghanistan he had seen two American soldiers sharing some peanuts and the mascot on the can had stood in a very similar posture. He believed it was the Planters Peanuts mascot. Regardless, John stepped forward. 

A black chair had been set out for him and as John approached the man indicated to it. “Have a seat John.” He said pleasantly. Upon closer inspection, John saw that the cane was in fact an umbrella. 

John eyed the chair and then ignored it. “If you wished to talk so badly, I do have a phone.” John began as he came closer. “I mean, very clever and all that, but...er, you could have just phoned me. On my phone.” He stopped as he finally came to stand before the other man. He was nearly a head taller then John. Then again, that wasn’t exactly surprising.

“When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.” The man explained with a wave of his umbrella. “You must be exhausted after such a tiring day, please do take a seat.”

“I don’t want to sit down.” John said flatly.

The man gazed at him, as if trying to discern something. John had seen Sherlock do a very similar gaze, however, his had only lasted a few seconds. A few seconds was probably more then enough time for Sherlock to deduce anything and everything where as this man seemed to be... calculating. John didn’t know whether the man’s long stare was a reflection of his lesser-then-Sherlock intelligence or if he was merely looking for something in particular. “You don’t seem very afraid.”

John just continued to stare right back at the man “You don’t seem very frightening.”

The man blinked and then laughed, showing his long pointed fangs. So he was a vampire. John wasn’t exactly surprised. There was an initial spark of fear that perhaps he was about to die, but then his soldier instincts overcame it. His mind instantly remembered what Sherlock had told him not some hours prior. Besides, if this man wished to kill him then he would have done so already. If he only wished John dead then there was no need to meet with him. The man’s laugh seemed to echo within John’s mind, alluding to a possible memory that remained out of John’s reach.

“Yes... your bravery John has never ceased to amuse me.” The man smiled. “Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?” 

John glared at him “Who are you?” the memory flickered, just on the edge of his consciousness.

“Oh come now, John.” the man chuckled again “Surely, you remember me?”

John pursed his lips “It would seem I am trying not to.”

“Oh, that hurts.” And with that one sentence the memory came rushing over him. John cringed and lowered his head. He wanted to press his palm over his forehead to steady himself but his inner soldier refused to show weakness. Almost as quickly as it happened John stood up straight again, undeterred and resolute. “Mycroft.”

“Ah yes, see. I knew you would remember me.”

John frowned “I see you are still showing a concern in your baby brother’s life.”

“You know my brother far better then anyone in the universe, John. How many friends do you imagine he has when you’re not there? Without you, I am the only closest thing Sherlock has to protection.”

“Protection.” John repeated absently. The word left an almost sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Visions, momentary screen-shots of the past, flashed before his mind. “If... I remember correctly the first time we ever met you tried to have me killed.”

Mycroft frowned and sighed “That was a very, very long time ago John and the rules were very different back then. And if you remember we eventually made certain... exceptions, to your and Sherlock’s relationship.” 

Another memory flickered in John’s head and he could not help but smiling “I seem to recall that you were forced to.”

Mycroft laughed again “Yes, yes I was. Your memory always did return rather quickly whenever he found you.” His expression turned concerned for a moment “What do you remember John?”

“I...I” John paused “It’s coming back, but not in a chronological order. I’m having a bit of trouble figuring out which came first.”

“I suppose that is to be expected.” Mycroft articulated with his umbrella, tapping it on the ground absently. “Allow me to give you the basics for this current time. You are John H. Watson, Sherlock Holmes’ mate. Though you are his mate you are not a vampire and have never been one because he refuses to turn you. You remain human but are tied eternally to him. Thus, why every time you are reborn you are fated to meet with him and continue on until you inevitably die once more.” John’s heart pulsated in his chest at the last sentence. “It is a truly tragic and unavoidable cycle. Quite dramatic really. Fits my brother perfectly.”

John licked his lips and was about to retort when there came a ping from his phone. Frowning slightly he took his phone out of his pocket and read the new text. It said simply:

Baker Street. Come at once, if convenient. – SH

John didn’t remember giving Sherlock his number. He rolled his eyes.

“I hope I’m not distracting you?” Mycroft added in an almost teasing manner.

John pocketed the phone and smiled back at Mycroft, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes and wasn’t genuine. “Not at all. You’re not distracting me at all.”

“If you continue on this path, Mr. Watson, it will only lead to your death.” Mycroft’s voice grew softer “It always does. He is the death of you. Knowing this will you continue your association with him?”

“I could be wrong, but I think that’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“It really isn’t.” John looked at him and didn’t even have to think. He already knew his answer. “If I recall, you said I was his mate and that anything I do is irrelevant because it is all leading to him.” John tilted his head “Unless you are implying that I do have a choice. That I could walk away.”

“You could, but you would feel that for the rest of your life a part of you is missing.”

“I don’t recon Sherlock would willingly let me just ‘walk away’.”

Mycroft chuckled “This is probably true, but still it is your life. Do you really want to continue giving it to Sherlock Holmes? Dying for him time after time?”

John smirked “I’ve done it thus far, so it must be for a reason.”

Mycroft watched him and then, surprisingly, a genuine smile came to his face “Remarkable.”

John blinked “What is?”

“You’re very loyal, very quickly.” Mycroft answered “Every time you are reborn I try to intervene and stop you, but it never works.”

“Then why do it to begin with?”

“I feel it only fair. Warning you what is to come.” He looked down and then back up again, his smile never fading. “Do you think I do this because I hope to change the outcome? To make you walk away?”

“Don’t you?”

Mycroft shook his head “Oh no, John.” He turned and began walking away. To where, John did not know. “Goodbye John, I look forward to seeing you again.” John watched him leave and the turned as Anthea came up beside him. 

“I’m to take you home.” She instructed politely. Another ping informed John of a second text message. He took out his phone and opened it.

If inconvenient, come anyway. – SH

John sighed as he turned to Anthea. “Where would you like to be dropped off?”

John smiled “Baker Street, please. 221B Baker Street.” Anthea nodded and then walked back to the car. Once they were settled in the back seat John turned to her “Are you a vampire too?”

Anthea made a sound of amusement “No.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence until they pulled up in front of 221 B. John opened the door, but before he got out of the car he asked “Have you already told Mycroft that I came here.”

“Yes.” Anthea answered.

John nodded and then asked “He didn’t really expect me to go anywhere else, did he?”

Anthea looked at him “No.”

John nodded again and then exited the car. He opened the door and made his way upstairs to the flat. Before he even opened the door he heard that almost mournful and yet beautiful sound of the violin. He paused on the threshold and listened intently. The music brought with it a feeling of calm, comfort, and a rush of memories. He saw himself reclining along a large sofa near the fire as Sherlock played. He looked to Sherlock and saw the vampire was starring at him with a most lustful and yet adoring gaze. John chuckled and then moved the blanket from his lap. Sherlock stopped playing, setting the violin gently on a side table before coming over and sitting next to John, molding against him as John wrapped the blanket around them. They snuggled there, in front of a roaring fire. They were so content and at peace. A feeling of sheer joy and warmth spread through John’s blood. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling. Dear god, was that what it had been like? Was that what it would be like? The sheer weight of everything fell heavy on John’s shoulders. The past, the present, what Mycroft had said, what Sherlock meant to him. All of it. He listened again to the violin and slowly a smile spread across his face. He grasped the doorknob. If this was to be his fate, then he was not about to change it. He opened the door and walked inside, not surprised when Sherlock did not stop playing. He set down his duffel and then leaned against the wall, just watching the man standing in front of the fireplace. 

The violin was tucked under his chin as his long fingers curled and pressed against the strings. He was wearing pajamas and a loose fitting blue robe that was left open. His feet were bare and, John noted, the teacup he had given Sherlock was still untouched. He shook his head and then went into the kitchen, making a fresh cup for the both of them. When he came back Sherlock seemed to finally notice his presence. “Ms. Hudson says your room is ready.” He stopped playing and gave John a quick once over. “You’ve seen my brother.”

“Yes.” John answered, offering him the cup. Sherlock accepted the mug but then placed it on the mantel. “Did he give you his usual speech?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And what did you say.” 

John let out a laugh “I would think that was obvious.” He paused “Sherlock... every time I die. Is it because I’m protecting you?”

Sherlock went so still John wondered if he was still breathing. There was a long pause before he nodded “Yes.” He looked at John, his eyes gazing directly into his for several moments. It was as if he was waiting for John to react, say something. John just smiled and took a sip of his tea.

“I’m off to bed.” He took a few steps and then paused. Nibbling his lower lip he ultimately rolled his eyes and then turned back around. He walked up to Sherlock and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Goodnight.” He said.

Sherlock looked down at him with a shocked expression, and John felt a surge of gratification at the knowledge that he had surprised Sherlock Holmes. “Yes...goodnight.” Sherlock answered. John then turned and walked to his room. There were worse fates then being eternally loved. Was it not Tennyson himself that said it was 'better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all?' John laughed at himself. It seemed his life had become somewhat cliché. Something then occurred to him and he stopped right at the beginning of the stairs. “Did you get any leads with the case?”

Sherlock regained his composure in an instant. He smiled “Oh yes, there has been another victim. And this one left a note.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to SabyCat for editing

John turned over in his bed and snuggled further into his blankets as erotic visions and sensations assaulted his body. He moaned into his pillow as he saw large smooth hands with long fingers scrape down his back. A mouth, perfectly suited for kissing, was currently nipping at his neck. He could feel the warning scrape of the tips of fangs. The anticipation of it was possibly the most sexy arousal. The threat and promise of them only made John’s blood roar in his ears as he moaned and arched his body in carnal pleasure. The voice that whispered such hot, vulgar demands in his ear was a dark and sinful purr. His skin felt as if it were on fire and that the cool hands caressing all over his body were the only relief. “Sherlock.” He half moaned, half pleaded. The hand that had been playfully stroking his abdomen moved around and over his hip to then grope possessively at his right buttock. John sighed as he pressed into the hand. The fingers moved to the seam of his ass and then pressed inside. John’s breath caught in his throat. The digits found what they were searching for and circled around teasingly. John’s breath was still caught in his lungs even as his body curved and he spread his legs wider.

“Always so beautiful, John.” came Sherlock’s aroused whisper. His index finger pressed inward, invading John with relative ease. John’s breath exploded from him, but not from pain. There was a deep burning sensation and the feeling of doing something shameful, but it all combined and faded into blinding, mind-numbing pleasure. It felt so hot and so gloriously naughty. Sherlock’s fingers were so long and dexterous. John had often marveled at them while they stroked and expertly manipulated the violin. And here in this moment they proved even more skillful. The first finger slid in to the knuckle before curving slightly and stretching John’s already sensitive walls. While this was happening Sherlock inserted another finger, then curved them both. 

John was practically writhing on his bed as he unconsciously bit into his pillow. He rolled again as he dreamed Sherlock had started to softly press the length of his erection against John’s hip. He moaned and tried to turn but ended up falling off the edge on the bed and crashing to the floor. His dream effectually shook like an old movie projector before vanishing from his mind as he awoke to the pain of his back and head as well as the tight uncomfortable feeling of his pajama pants.

He leaned up and looked around him before sighing at his own embarrassment and shame. He untangled himself from the blackest before going to his bathroom to take a shower. He needed to calm down before he dares risk greeting Sherlock good morning. Though knowing the genius in the other room, it didn’t matter what John did to hide it, Sherlock would know. As he washed his hair and enjoyed the warm spray he thought about the dream and what he had imagined Sherlock doing to him. In a moment of curiosity John reached back and touched his fingertips to himself, pressing slightly. In the dream it had been beyond intense, but in real life it seemed just uncomfortable, if not improbable. 

Then again, John had to consent that at the moment he was not in a particularly aroused state. Being a doctor, he knew that with proper foreplay or stimulus any sexual act could be pleasure. He assured himself that anal intercourse would be no different. Finishing up his shower he exited the bathroom and dried his head with a towel as he sat down on his bed. He glanced at the clock, which read just after eleven in the morning. Rather late to be waking up for him. He wondered momentarily if Sherlock was up already, but a loud clattering for down stairs told him his answer. The sound was fallowed by even more loud crashing and noises. They appeared to be coming closer. John’s eyes widened as his bedroom door suddenly opened and Sherlock strode in. He was dressed in his pajamas and robe while holding a laptop in his hands. John’s laptop to be exact.

John blushed, due to his nakedness, but also balked at Sherlock’s sheer abruptness. “John, good you are finally awake.”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock raised a brow, quickly glancing up and down John’s body “There is no need for modesty John I assure you. Especially considering your recent thoughts about me.” As if his deduction of John’s habits meant nothing he turned around the computer and almost shoved the screen in John’s face. “A lady in white.”

John frowned “A what?”

“The note John!” Sherlock declared in slight irritation. “I told you last night that there had been another victim and that they had left a note.”

“Yes, but I still do not see what a ‘lady in white’ has to do with this?”

“The note John. Or rather, the text on the victim’s phone.” Sherlock set the computer on John’s bed and began pacing. “It was a text from his fiancé, John. She accused him of seeing another women, even adding picture evidence. The victim replied saying he was sorry.” Sherlock rolled his eyes “As if that phrase ever fixed anything.” He waved a hand “Regardless, the fiancé threatened to call off the wedding if he did not come clean. So he admitted to it and said he would break it off. The texts were sent just mere hours before he was killed. The police found him this morning outside a pub alley.”

“And you think this is a lady in white because?” 

“All of the victims died in an aroused state and all of them were cheating on their respective partners. The lady in white is a ghost that seeks out and kills unfaithful men. This only furthers my suspicions considering all the vics have been male.” He sat on the bed. “Think John, really think. If this is a ghost, that would explain why no evidence was left at any of the crime scenes or why there are no witnesses to any of these murders.” The sheer excitement in his eyes was almost unnatural. He stood “Come on, John. We have only until night to get everything ready and to figure out where she is.”

“W-Where she is?” John pushed the computer aside and went to the doorway, uncaring any longer about his nudity. “Sherlock! Why tonight and why...” he looked over at the laptop. “Why are you using MY computer!?”

“My computer is busy calculating the probability of all the pubs in London, so I had to use yours for additional inquires.” Sherlock called back, his tone sounding particularly bored. John sighed as he ran his hands over his face. It was way too early for this. He grumbled under his breath as he slunk over to his dresser, taking out a shirt. His phone, which was on the bedside table, vibrated. He glanced at it before leaning over to pick it up. He had one new text message, from Sherlock, sent now. John mentally raged that the man had just left his room so what possible new information was he just bursting to tell John? He slid his thumb across the screen and then clicked to view text.

Good morning, John – SH

John couldn't help but smile.

 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

By the time John was dressed and down stairs, Sherlock was leaning across the couch with his palms pressed together and his fingertips positioned just under his nose. John observed him before making his way to the kitchen to make some tea. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he seemed to not even acknowledge John’s presence. When John came back into the room he set a cup on the table for Sherlock. He didn’t know why or even what compelled him to continue making the vampire tea. He took a seat in an old chair and was a little surprised to find that he sunk into it rather snuggly. John took a sip from his cup “So, what is your plan then for catching this 'Lady in white’?”

Sherlock grimaced as if he was being awoken from a deep sleep. He absently pointed to the computer that was placed on his desk. “I have narrowed it down to two possible locations.” John noticed that there were five listed on the screen. As if sensing his next question Sherlock elaborated. “The alcohol each victim consumed was cheap and consumed in high quantity. That rules out the pubs with a high or average quality assortment.” He hummed to himself. “The majority of the deaths happened between midnight and two when people were most scarce.”

“Or the most bloody drunk.” John added.

“That too.” Sherlock leaned up “Tonight we shall go to the 'Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese' pub. Of the two options, 'Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese' is the closest to the center point where all the murders seem to be concentrating and it is also a relative hidden and inconspicuous pub.”

“And we are going to do what exactly to attract this ghost?” he pursed his lips “Shouldn’t we phone Lestrade and tell him what is going on?”

Sherlock stood up on the couch and then walked over the furniture before jumping to the floor and going to his room. “I shall have to prepare with the proper attire.” He was smirking wickedly to himself and John wasn’t exactly sure if he liked it. “You should get ready too John.”

“Get ready for what?!” John called to Sherlock as he retreated into his room, though the door remained open. “Sherlock are you suggesting we go drinking?” He sighed. “Sherlock I’m way too old to be spending the entire night out drinking ale while you do whatever it is you plan on doing.” His protests went unheard. Mentally John sighed and for a second thought about refusing to go, but immediately the thought was tossed away. He would not leave Sherlock to run into an obviously dangerous situation on his own. Despite his brilliance and cunning he was to prone to becoming so caught up that he would not realize the level of danger around him. He was very reckless that way, always had been. Vaguely clouded memories of past events hovered at the corners of John’s mind but refused to focus. The fact that not all his memories were back was really beginning to annoy John. He felt as if important events or even information was being teasingly dangled in front of his face to only taunt him. How was he supposed to help when he didn’t know all the facts?

John’s rubbed a hand over his face. He had only just woken up and he already felt tired again. He looked at the clock and decided that if he was to do anything right now, it was to make himself something to eat. His stomach gave a impromptu gurgle of agreement. He wondered if he should ask Sherlock if he would like any, breakfast that was. But, it then occurred to John that maybe Sherlock didn’t eat solid food. He was a vampire after all. Perhaps he could only eat blood. John pondered this as he began looking for a pan to cook some eggs in. He shook his head. No, that didn’t make any sense. The energy requirements for a large living organism to survive, even a supernatural one, would not be able to be obtained from blood alone. Then again the vampire bat animal was a natural biological example of a creature that did survive on only blood. John pinched the bridge of his nose. He could already feel headache coming on. He located a pan and after setting it on the stove went to the refrigerator. 

He opened the door and was practically startled out of his skin. He quickly closed the door and then after a moment to collect himself he opened it again. Yup, there was a severed head in the refrigerator. The eyes were unnaturally bulging and opaquely white. The tongue looked as if it were swollen and trying to push through the cold dead lips. John quickly looked over the rest of the refrigerator but found nothing that seemed edible or even resembled food. John cautiously lifted up a small baggy that held two large eyeballs. Bovine or equine eyeballs, John’s guessed, as they were too large to be human. One of them was severely discolored. He set down the bag and then closed the fridge. He took a steadying breath and then called out “Sherlock!” when there was no answer he called out again, this time more firmly.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock answered back.

“Why are there,” he licked his lips “body parts in the refrigerator?”

“They are my experiments, John. I need something interesting to keep me entertained between cases.” He said it in possibly the most casual way a person could. As if he was referring to a hobby of reading books, or something equally as ordinary. 

John frowned and decided that the best way to approach this was from a medical standpoint. He would explain the facts and based on the logic Sherlock would concede, possibly. “Sherlock you can not keep bodily organs and fluids inside our refrigerator. It is where our food is supposed to be kept.”

“There is no food in the refrigerator John.”

“I noticed,” John licked his lips again. “Sherlock I have no wish to eat contaminated food or,” he added placatingly “jeopardize the scientific integrity of your experiments.”

“They are all contained within sealed bags and I assure you cross contamination is not an issue.” His tone could not sound any more bored.

John had had it “Sherlock I am NOT waking up every morning to the sight of a decapitated head just so I can grab some eggs!”

Apparently John’s angry tone was finally enough incentive to make Sherlock come out of his room. He was dressed in a pair of particularly tight fitting blue jeans and nothing else. John’s first thought was, naturally, that Sherlock looked very attractively slender. His second thought was, as a doctor, that he looked potentially a little too slender and he needed to gain some weight. Still, the sight of shirtless Sherlock in all his dark predatory beauty was no less... appealing. John darted his gaze away from Sherlock’s chest and to his face. The vampire raised a brow in mock question and smiled sweetly. John frowned as it occurred to him that Sherlock might have done this on purpose. Oh hell no. John was not about to continue living with a morgue refrigerator just because he took off some fabric. 

“Sherlock,” he pointed to the fridge. “I want them gone.”

The smile on Sherlock’s face disappeared. “John there is no-”

John held up a hand. “There may not be food now but there will be.” He looked at the clock. “In fact once we are done here I’ll be off to go get some food.” His tone became less angry as he asked. “Do you eat? Normal food I mean.” 

Sherlock frowned “Really John, I’m not a monster. In fact it has been proven that many humanoid supernatural creatures are in fact very closely related to humans. This is why we look so similar. For your intents and purposes though, just think of me as a human that needs to drink blood every once in a while.”

“I didn’t see any blood in that fridge?” A horrid thought occurred to him and it must have shown on John’s face because Sherlock was frowning. 

“I told you they were experiments.” He sighed “The blood packages are delivered to me discreetly. I keep them in small mini fridge hidden in my room. I can not risk drawing unwanted attention.”

John blinked at him in confusion and disbelief “Blood bags would cause people to ask questions but a severed human head wouldn’t!?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I want that refrigerator cleaned out and sanitized by the time I get back from the store.”

Sherlock frown remained and his posture change just slightly, indicating him reluctance and determination. “I will not stop my experiments John and I need a cold storage to keep them from decaying”

John glared up at him “Sherlock I am in need of food and a place to keep it cold.”

“You can buy food that does not need to be refrigerated.”

“Cream for tea needs-”

“Buy powdered creamer.”

John laughed uneasily, as if the sheer thought was blasphemous. He shook his head “No, Sherlock. I am buying creamer, milk, clotted cream, and many other things that will have to be refrigerated. And you are going to eat them,” he gestured around the kitchen “since you don’t seem to have much to eat around here besides tea.”

“I don’t really eat, John.”

“I've noticed, considering you've never touched any of the tea I have made for you.” A bite of anger crept into John’s voice. He licked his lips again as they stared one another down. To John it seemed like an eternity that he was gazing into Sherlock’s dark eyes. A part of him wanted to buckle and just allow Sherlock to have his way, but the better majority of him stood resolute to his cause. Finally, much to John’s inward relief, Sherlock glanced away toward the refrigerator and then looked back. John decided this would be the best time to go in for the attack. He sighed softly and then smiled as he continued looking up at the vampire in front of him. “Please, Sherlock.” He inwardly laughed as he saw Sherlock falter, a soft rose color coming to his cheeks. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could play sabotage. John knew he wasn't an overly handsome or gorgeous man, but he had all throughout his life been know as cute and adorable. His height only added to this perception. And so over time, John had learned to not resent his ‘cute’ factor, but rather use it to his advantage. His smile, he knew, was one of his best features.

Sherlock was not obtuse however, and his features were controlled a second later. He set his hands on his hips “Half of the refrigerator.”

“All of the refrigerator,” John countered “but you can have the lowest drawer. And,” he pointed a finger “the head has to go. I don’t want to see any human body parts in there ever.”

Sherlock thought on this for a while. His right index finger tapped on his arm in irritation. “I want the lowest two drawers.”

John, at this point, was trying very hard not to laugh. Sherlock expression and body language was like that of a pissed off child who had had his favorite toy taken away. He didn't know if his composure would hold and he had pretty much received what he wanted, so he nodded, accepting the terms. As long as the head was gone John considered it a victory. Sherlock huffed and then turned to practically fall onto the couch sideways. He curled into a ball, facing away from John. John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. He couldn't say why, but sulking Sherlock was quite possibly the most adorable, if not a little immature, thing he had ever seen. It was... strangely endearing.

“I thought you were getting ready to go out?”

“There is time.” Sherlock answered curtly.

John rolled his eyes as he walked over to stand over him. Sherlock refused to look at him. “Would you like me to pick you up anything while I’m out?”

“No, I do not usually eat store food but rather prefer to eat at restaurants.”

“Well that is going to change. You really can’t think of anything?” Sherlock didn’t answer and so John sighed. “Alright, let me grab my coat and I’ll be off. Don’t want to see me off?” The last bit was more teasing then anything else. But, to John’s surprise Sherlock abruptly sat up and grabbed him by his collar. Pulling him down into a soft hot kiss. John’s eyes widened and then before he could respond in kind the kiss was over. Sherlock, now seeming to have gained some of his previous vigor, smiled up at him with amusement. 

“Have a good trip John. I’ll see you just before nightfall.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So, what is the plan?” John asked quietly for only Sherlock to hear as he leaned against the bar. He looked around at all the mingling and chatting patrons. They appeared to be so happy and innocent. John had a hard time believing that any of them was a ghost. 

“The woman in white is a ghost, John. The most effective way of killing a ghost is to burn and salt the bones.” He continued to look around the bar with an almost predatory eye. “A ghost, such as this, is originally created by a jilted woman who committed suicide. I have looked into all possible female suicides for the last year or so.” He made an impatient sound “There are too many that fit the criteria to be sure which one it is and I do not fancy digging up all the graves just to eliminate all possibilities. It would draw to much suspicion.”

“Not to mention be disrespectful to the dead.” John added, though it appeared that Sherlock ignored him.

“We are here to see if we can spot her. Ghosts have trouble maintaining a continual false appearance when in front of mirrors or windows.” He pointed to the window just across from where they stood. 

“False appearance?”

“The ghost will disguise herself as the beautiful young women she was when she was alive. She has to. Her true form would look like that of a decaying corpse, which is not exactly attractive.” Sherlock smiled and then frowned as he added “Well, not to most people.”

John shot him a glare “Change the subject. Now.”

Sherlock smirked at his unease, but did as John wished “You’re looking comfortable.” 

John’s frown deepened. Stylish clothes were not exactly his area of expertise or interest. He had been in the army for god sake. Clothes were not meant to be a personification of wealth, but a means to cover ones self from the elements. To that end, John had always bought clothes that were comfortable, looked well enough on him, and were moderately priced. He didn’t see the reason or logic of buying jeans that cost more then a television set when a pair of average priced jeans looked and worked just as well. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to take a great deal of pride in his appearance and clothing attire. John would call him vain if he wasn’t absolutely sure that Sherlock didn’t give a damn what people thought of him. So thus, his choice in clothing must be a preference, like John’s. Sherlock just enjoyed finer clothes.

John glanced to his side to quickly rake his eyes up and down Sherlock’s lean body and long legs. It was not the first time he had done that this evening. He had almost stuttered when he had come back from grocery shopping and Sherlock had been in the doorway to greet him. The vampire was dressed in a white blouse shirt with the top button undone for a rather casual look. He also wore a midnight black jacket with a single button in the front. His long athletic legs were clad in equally black pants that, John swore, looked tailored to compliment every curve and bulge. He wasn’t sure which pants Sherlock looked better in, jeans or the ones he had on. John then absently looked down at himself. He wore jeans, a long sleeve dark blue and light blue striped shirt, and his favorite black jacket. He rolled his eyes and mentally cursed Sherlock as he took another swig from his pint.

A comfortable silence fell between them as the night dragged on. They watched people come and go. When an attractive woman entered the pub John watched her with fascination. Sherlock leaned over and whispered “John I memorized what each of the possible women looked like. She is not one of them.”

John immediately looked away, smiling a little “Of course, just making sure.” Sherlock’s patient look then turned into a scowl. John’s smile faded and he coughed awkwardly. Sherlock looked away and for all intents and purposes appeared to be sulking and stayed that way for a good long while. John sighed, not really knowing what to say or do. He could comfort Sherlock or kiss him, but they were in public. John didn’t particularly care that they were both men or what people thought, it was just that he did not like public affection. Open affection, in private and especially in a crowd, was unsettling and embarrassing for him. Still, he didn’t want Sherlock to continue acting or feeling rejected. 

“Sherlock,” John started “you don’t-”

“There John!” Sherlock hissed under his breath, practically startling John out of his wits. John frantically looked around and then saw her.

She looked normal and strangely innocent. She was young, probably in her late twenties. Her hair was a golden blonde that was tied back in a loose fitting braid. She wore a white cotton dress but the man that she had walked in with had draped a coat over her shoulders. Still the clothing choice, given London’s usual weather, was beyond odd. He turned to Sherlock. “You’re sure?”

“Most defiantly.” He set down his drink in favor or watching the woman’s every move.

She sat at a table with the man she had walked in with. They talked and she, from the looks of it, was acting as timid as a church mouse. Then after several moments there was a sudden change of character she leaned over and whispered something in his ear. The man froze and turned to look at her as she smiled invitingly. Then the man grinned as they got up and headed for the door. Sherlock rose the moment the door rang closed behind them. “Now John.” John left the rest of his pint unfinished as he raced out the door after Sherlock.

He ran after the vampire, who ran like a bloody sprinter, as best he could. When Sherlock quickly ducked into an ally John was right behind him. Unfortunately a little to close behind as he had to skid to a stop to avoid barreling into Sherlock’s back. He was about to ask what was the problem when Sherlock began looking around in confusion. John peeked around Sherlock and saw the man from earlier. The girl, or ghost rather, was gone and the man looked as if he were just as perplexed as them. The man turned to look at them disapprovingly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sherlock ignored his question “Where is she!?”

The man visibly sobered at Sherlock’s angry tone “S-She...,” he coughed “I don’t know who you mean.”

Sherlock practically growled as he stepped forward and got right up in the man’s face “Listen, that woman is a predator to every last one of you cheating sods. Now if you don’t tell me where she ran off to I’ll be more then inclined to assume you are an accomplice rather then a potential victim.” The man flinched. “And don’t even bother trying to deny your infidelity. There is a tell tale untanned white circle around your ringer finger and under your cologne is the subtle scent of peach orchard perfume, among numerous other obvious things.” John watched as with every word the man’s composure cracked and broke.

“I-I don’t know.” He stammered. “She just disappeared.”

Sherlock cursed as he turned away “We’ve been made.” He hissed as he began pacing.

“So what now?” asked John.

Sherlock clapped his hands and turned to John with a resolute gaze “We must go to the grave. Come along John.” He began walking, briskly. John fell into step behind him. 

“You know where the grave is?”

“Of course I do John. I wouldn’t just blindly run into a battle without considering all the possible outcomes.” John supposed that was mostly true.

 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Their cab ride to the graveyard was spent in silence, to which John was grateful. He needed time to think and gain his resolve. His solider instincts took over as he began to notice every detail of the world around him. He also noticed with a bit of unease that Sherlock was smiling. John didn’t know why he found that surprising. He was already aware that Sherlock craved the rush, fear, and excitement like an addict craved his favorite drug. So when the cab pulled up John wasn’t at all startled as Sherlock quickly jumped out, paid the driver, and then was bounding down the dirt walkway to examine the gravestones.

John sighed as he exited the car. “Oi, what are you two blokes doing out here so late at night?” the driver called to him. 

John had no idea how to answer that “Just-uh-going for a walk and,” he pretended to be sad “it’s his daughter’s birthday and he’s a little..” John made a gesture with his hands to indicate that Sherlock was bit drunk. The driver's face looked shocked and then ashamed.

“Sorry lad, was not my place to ask.” John waved a hand, indicating no offense was taken as the driver put the cab in drive and drove away. 

Sherlock, on the other hand, had darted away as soon as he was able. His eyes had no problems seeing in the dark night as they looked from grave stone to grave stone. He examined the cement and edges of the molded markers. He was looking for one that was relatively recent, within the last three months. That had been when she had killed herself. Her marker should be relatively new looking with only slight wearing or discoloring from the rain. The grave stones before him did not fit the criteria. He ran further up the path toward a group of trees. The sooner they found and burned the body the better, though it would take time to dig up the grave. Sherlock only hoped the ghost did not show herself or kill another man during that time.

Sherlock stopped when he thought he saw a light through the bushes. Was someone there? He didn’t have the time to consider the thought or call out to the would-be trespassers as he was roughly slammed from the side and then dragged along the grassy and rocky ground until a heavy weight settled on top of him. He looked up as the girl from the bar gazed down at him. Her eyes were a mixture of black and white, like the night itself. She gazed down at Sherlock with nothing but contempt. “Are you here with them?” She growled. Sherlock frowned. She rocked her hips, grinding against his groin. The action did nothing more then make him twinge in pain as she ground a little too hard. She leaned over him and her lips were a breath away from his. “You knew who I was and went to save that retched man. I’ll make you pay for that.” The invisible force keeping Sherlock down intensified.

Sherlock gritted his teeth from the pain before a soft chuckle escaped him “You can’t kill me.” He smiled when the woman frowned at him. “You can’t even hurt me. I’m not unfaithful and I have never been.”

“You will be.” She grinned as she kissed him. The moment their lips touched Sherlock cried out in muffled agony as something shredded down his chest.

“Sherlock!” John yelled just seconds before gunfire sounded through the air. The bullets shot through the girl and her appearance wavered. Like a ripple disrupting a placid surface of water. In a flash her form changed from youthful and vibrant to withered, moldy, and sickly decaying. She turned to look at John. Her lips were eaten away by maggots and her teeth were yellowed as her black eyes blazed with rage. John shot his gun again. The bullets flew right through her face and did no damage. She stood, staring directly at John. Sherlock tried to move, but couldn’t. She stepped over his body and began walking. Each step brought her closer to John.

John kept his gun aimed even as Sherlock yelled “John, run!” Like every honorable soldier, however, John stayed his ground. In his mind he was not about to leave Sherlock alone. “John!” Sherlock yelled again. 

Then in an instant of heat the ghost screamed before erupting into flames and seeming to evaporate into the air. She filled the night with a mournful and enraged screech of agony. As soon as it happened, it was over and she was gone. John looked on in disbelief as he watched the residual embers effervesce into the night air. A breath exploded from Sherlock’s lungs as the weight vanished. He leaned up, coughing.

“Sherlock!” John rushed to his side before falling to his knees. “You’re covered in blood.” Sherlock looked down at his torn and blood stained white shirt. There were four seeping long gashes starting at his chest and ending at his stomach, just above where the button of the jacket was.

“At least she didn’t ruin the jacket.” Sherlock chuckled. He looked to John who gave him a look that clearly said ‘are you bloody serious!?’ Sherlock groaned slightly as he got to his feet, despite John’s protests. “I’m fine John. This wound will heal itself in no time.”

“What are you talking about you need-”

“I’m a vampire, John. Taking me to a human hospital would not solve anything. I heal more rapidly then human’s do. I promise by the time we are home this will be little more then a scab and by morning it will be gone.” John did not look convinced in the slightest, but he begrudgingly let it drop.

“What was she doing to you?”

Sherlock smirked “Trying to make me be unfaithful.” He gave a quick little wink to John before turning to look around them. “The more pressing question is why she just died.”

John frowned “Die? You mean that’s what it looks like when ghosts...die?”

“Yes John that is what happens when one salts and burns the bones to get rid of a malicious spirit, but not you nor I were the ones that did it.” His eyes focused up ahead, where he had originally seen the strange light and now he could clearly see an obvious fire. Sherlock and John ran, pushing through the bushes and over the slight dip in the terrain until they approached a grave. It had been desecrated already. The earth was dug up into a large mound, the casket was open, and roaring flames were currently licking at the bones within and melting the piles of salt that were strewn about. Sherlock glanced at the head stone, but only to confirm his suspicions.

John looked toward the tombstone “Is that-”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered before John could finish. He looked around them and then walked over to a patch of rather thick overgrown brush. The plant life and grass on the ground had been squished recently as the stocks and leaves were all bent or broken. Something heavy had done it as well, otherwise the plant life would have resumed its original shape once the offending weight was gone. The outline that was left behind was the perfect shape of a large square.

“I don’t understand!” John called to him. “Who could have done this?”

Sherlock chuckled as he looked over his shoulder at John “'Who?' indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story doesn't seem to have very many readers so until further notice consider it suspended.
> 
> Thank you again to SabyCat for editing.
> 
> [EDIT 3/17/2014] - LOL OK! Never mind. The story is no longer suspended. I'm sorry, I thought no one was reading/liking this story. Apparently that is totally wrong because I have received a lot of messages begging me to continue.


	7. Chapter 7

The air between them felt energized as they road in a cab back to their flat. A part of John could still not believe that what had just happened was real. He stared out the window at the luminous London street lamps that went by. Every once in a while he would smile in disbelief and astonishment to himself. Sherlock sat next to him gazing out the opposite window. He was just as eager as John but for entirely different reasons. He sat is quiet contemplation until the cab pulled outside their flat. Without waiting he got out of the cab and walked up to the door. He had his black coat pulled tightly around to cover up the wounds on his abdomen, but the material was still sticky and pungent with the scent of blood. Granted that the smell of his own blood did not set off his cravings as readily as human blood did, but still the smell was affecting him. He opened the door and quickly made his way up the stairs.

John had no sooner left the car than Sherlock had already opened the entry door and was gone with another tell-tale 'whoosh' of his cool coat. A part of him wanted to roll his eyes as he paid the cabbie and then briskly walked after Sherlock. He shut the door behind him and was about to ascend the stairs when Ms. Hudson poked her head out of her doorway. 

“Oh, John.” she greeted in a hushed whisper as she came to stand before him. She glanced up the stairs to the open door. “Is everything alright?” She looked at her watch. “It’s hellish late. What were you two boy’s doing?”

“Oh,” John smiled and shrugged “Just having a pint and enjoying the night really. Sorry if we bothered you.”

She waved a hand “It’s fine dear. I hardly sleep through the whole night anyway. Is Sherlock alright?”

“Yes, just having a bit of a problem with his stomach, I’m afraid.” He semi-lied as he started moving up the stairs “Nothing to worry about, I’ll tend to him.”

Ms. Hudson smiled and giggled slightly “Oh, it’s so wonderful to have a doctor so close at hand. Sherlock does seem so prone to illnesses, I do hope he’ll be a little better under your care.” She shook her head. “He’s so pale.”

John suppressed the need to chuckle as he walked through the door and then shut it behind him. He turned to find Sherlock had already draped his coat over the couch and had thrown the bloodied and ruined blouse shirt in the trash. Sherlock himself was nowhere to be seen, but John heard noises coming from his room. For a moment, he considered walking in to see if Sherlock needed help, but thought better of it. Sherlock was a vampire. Thus, it was unlikely there was anything John could do to help him. Then, there was the possibility that Sherlock was currently consuming some blood packets in order to replenish the blood he had lost. John gulped. There were some things he could stomach and given time that may turn into one of them, but at this moment he would rather not witness that. And so he turned and headed for his own room. He hadn’t realized how fatigued he was until his head hit the pillow. Within moments, his eyes drifted shut and he fell into a deep slumber.

He did not know how many hours had passed since he fell asleep, but he was awoken by the sound of a violin playing. At first the instrument’s mournful song had just invaded his dreams, but then when John opened his eyes he realized the sound was real. He yawned and rolled over on his back, scratching his inner thigh absently as he stretched. Once his muscles felt nicely primed, he then stared up at his ceiling, listening intently to the music. Now that he was more awake, he knew that it was undoubtedly Sherlock. He glanced over at his alarm. Well, at least it was late enough that nobody would be complaining about the noise. Then again, John thought with a sigh, how could anyone have a complaint about Sherlock’s music. It was meticulously pitch perfect. 

John lay in his bed, simply listening. The song was soft and somewhat mournful sounding, and yet John somehow knew it was a love song. He closed his eyes as the notes seemed to call to the transparent past memories at the back of his mind. He tentatively remembered quiet nights when Sherlock would play the violin for him. The song then seemed to solidify within his mind as john realized he had heard it before. He still could not place the name, but he knew it. The lyrics floated on ghostly words that he tried to clutch at. 

Subconsciously, John knew that he had gotten up from the bed and was walking, but his mind was so focused that he did not actively realize he had walked into the main living room until he saw Sherlock. The curtains on the windows were pulled wide open to let in the morning sun, which bathed over Sherlock’s naked upper body in perfect contrast to his cream colored skin. He was indeed playing his violin with the base of it tucked carefully under his chin. His eyes were closed as he concentrated solely on the music he was playing. He seemed to not even notice John had entered the room.

John could only smile as he made his way to the kitchen and began preparing tea. He puttered around domestically while Sherlock continued to play. He noted that Sherlock seemed to be repeating the song in a continuous loop. When he entered the room again, he set down the tray with the cream and sugar before taking a seat on the couch. He leaned back amongst the pillows and placed the union jack pillow behind his lower back for support. He watched Sherlock with an enrapt gaze as he prepared his tea and then sipped it casually. He could, however, not help the moan that escaped him at the feel and taste as the tea slid down his throat. There was nothing in the world that could compare to the likeness and relaxing feeling of tea. He noted, however, that the music had abruptly stopped. He quickly looked up to find Sherlock looking at him. His head dipped slightly in apology as he eyes glanced at the ground in embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

Sherlock made a quick, decisive glance up and down his person before saying “You did not change out of your clothes.”

John looked down and found it was true. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night. He pursed his lips “I was much too tired to take them off. I fell asleep the moment we got home.” He took another sip of tea. “So, what do you plan for us to do today? Are we to catch an international werewolf jewel thief, or just stay here and watch crap telly?” He joked mildly. 

“I do not have a television, John.” Sherlock pointed out with a smirk. John frowned as he looked around. How had he not noticed that Sherlock didn’t have a television? Well, that would soon have to be corrected now wouldn’t it, John thought dismissively. “To answer your question though, no. We will not be doing anything today.”

John considered him “Won’t you be bored?” 

“Not today. Though there is no case, my mind is quite active for the time being. However, we will keep the doors open for potential clients and my phone is on the table in case Lestrade finds himself in over his head again.” He then noticed the tea John made and after staring at it for a moment, he set down his violin and moved to lounge comfortably in his chair. He reached over, taking the cup that was obviously set out for him and drank calmly. John watched the teacup leave the plate and then approach Sherlock’s mouth. At first his initial thought was “About time.”, as he remembered all the past teas that had gone untouched. His second thought, however, was entirely less innocent.

As the white china cup drew closer to his mouth John’s gaze fixated exclusively on Sherlock’s lips. They were so delicately pink, supple, and perfect for kissing. His upper lip had an adorably cupids bow that gave his mouth a somewhat sophisticated and yet sinful look. A shiver traveled down John’s spine as he remembered just how wonderful that mouth had felt. John absently licked his lips as the cup finally pressed against Sherlock’s mouth. Then John’s gaze traveled downward to his neck and his Adam's apple, which bobbed as Sherlock swallowed. It seemed utterly unfair that one man should look as glorious as Sherlock did. Whoever his parents were they had given him excellent genes. John stopped himself as he wondered about that. Did vampires have parents? He assumed they did, otherwise why would they mate for life if they couldn’t have offspring. John pushed the thought aside as he asked “What was the song you were playing?”

“Do you know it?” Sherlock asked, ignoring his question entirely.

“It seems familiar.” John admitted after taking another sip of tea. “Did you play it for me all those many years ago?”

“On occasion. It is one of your more favorite songs that I play.” Sherlock smiled “Unfortunately, it is also a song that sounds better when played with multiple instruments, while the main beat is being played by a piano.”

“I thought it sounded beautiful with just you playing it.” John complimented. “I did not mean to interrupt you earlier and you are more then welcome to keep playing.”

“Is that an offer, or are you asking me to continue, Mr. Watson.” Sherlock smirked.

John raised an eyebrow at him, but chuckled. He realized in that moment that this was a side of Sherlock that only he got to see. He realized how lucky he was and how...happy he was. John pursed his lips as he realized that he was happy, truly happy. He had not laughed, smiled, or felt so alive in he could not remember how long. The dreary melancholy that had surrounded him before meeting Sherlock had simply vanished, and he knew he had Sherlock to thank for it. He looked at the vampire and gazed directly into his eyes. John knew that being with Sherlock would ultimately lead to his death, but John didn’t care. He was going to die one way or another anyway and if given the choice he would rather die having known Sherlock, having loved him, then having not. Wasn’t it Shakespeare who had said ‘It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all’?

Sherlock angled his head to one side and regarded John coolly “Are you alright John?”

Feeling, for the moment, rather romantic and emotional John nodded “Yes, Sherlock Holmes. I just realized that I am beginning to fall in love with you.” Sherlock’s eyes flickered only slightly, but a tender smile curved over those perfect lips. “And yes, I am asking you to continue.”

Without another word spoken between them, Sherlock set down his tea and then rose to his full height once more. He grasped his violin and bow and tucked it once more under his chin. He closed his eyes, set the bow to the strings, and played. As the melody began again John found the lyrics from earlier were now singing through his head and memory.

_Sweet little words made for silence_  
 _Not talk_  
 _Young heart for love_  
 _Not heartache_  
 _Dark hair for catching the wind_  
 _Not to veil the sight of a cold world_

_Kiss while your lips are still red_  
 _While he's still silent_  
 _Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled_  
 _Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool_  
 _Drown into eyes while they're still blind_  
 _Love while the night still hides the withering dawn_

_First day of love never comes back_  
 _A passionate hour's never a wasted one_  
 _The violin, the poet's hand,_  
 _Every thawing heart plays your theme with care_

_Kiss while your lips are still red_  
 _While he's still silent_  
 _Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled_  
 _Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool_  
 _Drown into eyes while they're still blind_  
 _Love while the night still hides the withering dawn_

When Sherlock finished he slowly reopened his eyes and gaze into John face. It was a timeless moment as they simply stared at one another. Still just as slowly, Sherlock set the violin back down as he moved toward John, never breaking their contact. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked as Sherlock moved to sit beside him. “Is your wound healed?” The question needed to be asked even if it was evident from the way John’s voice trembled that he hoped the answer would be no. Still, his hand outstretched to touch his stomach gently, hesitantly, and yet reverently. 

“It is taking longer then usual, but the external physical damage is healed, yes.” Sherlock answered in a whisper as he moved closer to John and leaned in, brushing his lips against John’s own. 

“Good,” John breathed in an almost sigh as he kissed Sherlock fully. He leaned into his embrace and opened his mouth willingly. His hands moved up Sherlock’s naked chest before his arms wound around his neck. Sherlock invaded his mouth with his tongue and devoured John slowly, tortuously, but completely. John moaned and allowed the vampire to press him into the back of the couch. John’s own tongue pressed forward and gently swiped across a sharp fang. Sherlock made a sound halfway between a growl and a groan that sent blood straight to John’s already hardening sex. They broke for a quick breath, but then were kissing a second later. John moved to nip at the side of Sherlock’s jaw and Sherlock angled his head to swipe his tongue over John’s bottom lip.

John was just about to gasp Sherlock's name, when the tell-tale, high-pitched ping of a text sounded on Sherlock’s phone. John looked over at where it sat on the table but Sherlock turned his head away. “Ignore it.” Sherlock whispered as he captured John’s lips once more. The ping sounded again. John chuckled as he broke the kiss to get a breath or air.

“It may be a case.”

“I am otherwise already engaged.” Sherlock retorted as he nipped his way down John’s neck. A warm hand with long fingers began to unbutton the top buttons of John’s shirt. 

John laughed as he moved Sherlock’s hand away. “Sherlock,” he said as he kissed the vampire again. That was when the phone actually rang. Its ring tone was an uncharacteristically cherry sounding melody that had John frowning. It didn’t fit what he though Sherlock would choose for his phone at all. Then again, considering Sherlock preferred to text, maybe he had not bothered to change or set the ring tone. Sherlock half frowned, half glared at the phone. John rolled his eyes as he leaned forward and grabbed the electronic. “Just answer it. It’s probably Lestrade.” He handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock looked from the phone to John as if deciding whether to throw the phone at the wall and jump John’s bones, or to just answer it and submit to John’s wishes.

He decided it was probably better to keep John in a pleasant mood for the benefit of further kisses. He took the phone and looked at the caller ID. His face immediately fell as he noticed the ID did not have a number or even a name. All it said was a simple ‘I.O.U’. Sherlock rose from the couch, his previous comfortable and affectionate demeanor gone in the blink of an eye. John stared at him with growing worry “Sherlock?”

Sherlock pressed the button which allowed for the call to be answered. He then pressed another button which changed the call to speaker phone. “Hello.”

“Hello Sherlock, long time no see, if I’m not mistaken.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “How is my favorite consulting detective doing?”

Sherlock's hand twitched with the rising tension in his body. “Moriarty.”

“Oh, I do so love it when you say my name, Sherlock.” There was an amused chuckle. “I’m glad to see my leave of absence hasn’t made you forget about me.” Another pause “Though, I’m a little hurt that you sound so surprised that I am calling.”

Sherlock glared at the phone “What are you talking about?”

“Oh come now, Sherlock, there is no reason to play such petty games. You and I both know that your little friends tried mess up one of my latest projects.” He sighed “And though they did disrupt my plans they did not stop my major operation. I would have thought by now Sherlock you would have learned to back off.” He chuckled “Or do I need to rip the heart out of you just one more time? I have to say, I never tire of it.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Fine, be that way.” The way in which he said those words sounded like a flippant exasperated child. “I just wanted to call and give you a little friendly reminder that you are in over your head...oh, and that I know that precious little **mate** ,” he practically spat the word before his tone returned to that of a light conversation “of yours is alive again. So I guess I’ll be seeing you. So nice to have a proper chat and reconnect.” There were several seconds of dead air before the line went dead.

“Sherlock,” John got to his feet. “Sherlock, who was that?”

Sherlock stared at the phone as he gritted his teeth “Moriarty,” his grip on the phone tightened “He’s possibly the world’s most powerful human being and my mortal enemy.”

John gazed at him and then licked his lips as he tried to consider what to do. “What was he talking about? Your friends?”

“I don’t have **friends**.” Sherlock hissed as he turned to look out the window. He started talking to himself “Lestrade? No, the police are far to dim witted to catch wind of one of Moriarty’s top operations. Friend....friend....” He began to pace back and forth and then abruptly stopped. He rolled his eyes as he groaned “Oh of course.” He turned and looked at his phone, scrolling down and bringing up the text that had been sent to him. He smiled then jumped over his chair on his way toward his bedroom. “Get dressed John, we are leaving after all!”

John watched him walk away with a dumfounded look “Mind telling me where we’re going?!” he didn’t receive an answer. John waited a moment longer before asking more angrily “Would you at least tell me what it is exactly we are doing!?”

Sherlock emerged from his bedroom completely dressed from head to foot. John looked him up and down and wondered how he had done that so quickly. Sherlock smirked “Simple John, we are going to go find a blue phone booth. Now please get dressed in some new clothes. Time is wasting and the traffic is already going to be horrible.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys! But I'm out of college now so I should have plenty of time to write and I'm working with my editor to brainstorm ideas so that this fic can have more chapter updates in a timely fashion.

“I don’t get it.” Dean frowned as he and Sam walked out of the house. “You sure that article said she was saying human aliens had landed in her back yard?”

“That’s what it said.” Sam replied as they stopped to stand just outside the doors of the impala.

“In a blue space ship?”

“I don’t get it either. I was, at first, thinking fairies or leprechauns like before but,” he paused to look around at the upper middle class suburban neighborhood. No one else seemed to be bothered and no other ‘weird sightings’ had been reported. “As far as I know there is no way a British man in a trench coat could ever fit either the description of a leprechaun or fairy.”

“Hey, I find it more weird that a kid sees something like that, isn’t freaked out a little by it, and then says he took her to medieval times so she could see a dragon.”

Sam nodded though a smirk threatened to cross his lips “Yeah, that’s a new one.” They got into the car and as Sam began to buckle up he said “You wanna stick around and wait for Bobby to get back to us or do you wanna just move on. I mean, I don’t even think that kid was hurt.”

“Hell she wasn’t even traumatized.” Dean shrugged sarcastically “I don’t know, let’s get something to eat. That’ll give Bobby time to poke around and see if he can tell us what we are up against.” He started the car and after checking his blind spot moved out onto the road.

“So where are we going to lunch?”

“It’s California, Sam. There is only one fast food place to go when in California.” Dean grinned.

Twenty five minutes later Dean got back in that car holding armfuls of burgers, fries, and shakes. He laughed in overjoyed glee as he handed Sam his shake and burger basket. “In-N-Out Burger.  A delicious classic.”

“And these are different than other burgers how?” Sam asked, taking a-hold of his double-double burger and taking a tentative sniff. The smell alone had his mouth watering and even he had to admit it looked delicious.

“Don’t insult it until you try it. Besides this place cuts the fries fresh before they cook ‘em. It’s literally like potato and then fry in like a second.” Dean dipped a fry in some ketchup and then tossed it in his mouth. “Oh yeah,” he moaned, clearly enjoying himself “that makes all the difference.” Sam tried to hide his smile as he took a bite of his burger and after a second even he was groaning at the taste. “ **See**.” Dean gloated before he ate some more fries.

“What kind of shake did you get me?” Sam asked as he set the drink on top of the dash.

“Strawberry.” Dean held up his own drink “And for me, chocolate.”

Sam frowned “Why?”

“Because you like that rabbit food.”

“And a strawberry shake is considered rabbit food?”

“No, but I thought you’d say some crap about strawberries being better then chocolate so I got you strawberry.”

“They’re no real strawberries.”

“And salads are not real food.” Dean nodded his head as if saying he had won that argument. Sam could only roll his eyes as he took another bite of his burger. Just as Sam was about to make a grab for his shake he stopped. Across the street in the park was a rather large playground and just beyond that, resting next to a shady tree and right on the side of the curb, was a blue phone booth.

“Dean,” Sam began “do you…see that?”

Dean stopped his enthusiastic mastication long enough to look up at where Sam was pointing. “A phone booth. So?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Sam began in an almost exasperated tone “maybe you think that’s a little odd.”

“Phone booths do still exist Sammy, even though we all got cell phones.”

“It’s blue.” Sam countered “And I don’t remember seeing any phone booths that look like that. Hell, it doesn’t even look …American.” Sam’s frown deepened as he set down his food and got out of the car. Dean watched him leave with a worried expression before looking down at his food. He looked back up to see that Sam had already crossed the street.

“Shit.” Dean grumbled as he set down his food and quickly got out of the car. He jogged over to Sam just at the point where He had reached the phone booth.

“See,” Sam indicated with his hand as Dean came to stand beside him “This doesn’t even look like a normal phone booth. It looks like one of those British phone booths, though I thought they were red and not blue.”

“Actually Sam,” Dean jerked his thumb toward the sign on the door “this says it’s a police call box.” They walked around it for a moment before Dean shrugged. “Maybe it’s something new that the police thought up, putting police phone near public areas for easy access or something.”

Sam shook his head as he reached out a hand to touch it “No, I don’t think so.”

Both brothers came to stand before the door, staring at it a moment before looking at one another. Dean made a face and jerked his head toward the handle. Sam pursed his lips and shook his head again, indicating no. Dean sighed and then reached out his hand to grab the handle. He pulled hard and the door gave a momentary rattle but did not open. Dean let go and then shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, now can we go back to the car. Those fries may be good but they still torn to crap when they are cold.”

Sam looked the blue phone booth up and down one last time before nodding “I guess-”

There was the unlocking sound just before the door slid open. A man with a slightly angular face and short brown hair, which was slightly obscuring his eyes, peered out of the box. He wore an old brown jacket over a blouse shirt and a red bowtie. An outfit that seemed truly out of place considering the hot weather outside and worn appearance of the clothes.

The man all but beamed when he laid eyes of Sam and Dean. “There you two are!” he laughed “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you two all morning, but neither of you and answering.” He looked as if he were about to say something else when a new thought occurred to him “Oh, my apologies, come right in. I’ll tell you about it on the way.” He moved back and then disappeared, leaving Dean and Sam stunned in silence. “Well, come on!” a man yelled from inside. It sounded as if his voice was reverberating, making it seem louder than it was.

Dean looked to say “Think it’s a…a..” he let out a breath, not knowing what to say.

“Well he’s not a demon.” Sam answered as he moved forward, peering inside the box.

“Oh, and how do you know that.”

“Just before stepping inside Sam looked over his shoulder and gave Dean a look “When have you ever met a demon that’s that…happy, especially to see us.” Dean stared at Sam a moment longer before nodding his agreement and they entered the phone booth. The moment they were inside Dean shut the door, turned around, and then gaped.

It was as if they had walked inside a small space ship. The man from earlier was fiddling with some knobs and Dean could only describe the way he was moving as almost skipping. “I’m glad I found you when I did.” The man spoke again. “I was about to give up on you two and just do it myself. Though if I remember correctly you boys already have experience with something like this so, here you are.”

“Um, excuse me.” Sam stopped the man as he was about to walk by. “Do you,” he gestured between them “know us?”

The man was taken aback a moment as he looked between Sam and Dean with a curious expression. “Yes,” he frowned “do you not know who I am?”

Dean sent a glance toward Sam before he said “No, um, we don’t.”

“Strange…” The man turned to face away from them as he looked back at his controls. “Oh, it appears I have the year wrong.”

“That so,” Dean tried to look over at the controls but man turned around to block his view. Dean gave him a withering look “Ok, why don’t explain how you know us and what you are.”

“Yes, where did you meet us?”

The man pursed his lips and if in thought “I meet a lot of people and with all the wibbly wobbly- OH!” The man clapped his hands and laughed in amusement. “Oh that’s brilliant. It’s here!”

“What is **here**?” asked Dean, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“The time when I first met you, it’s here right now.” He looked between Sam and Dean, seeing that they didn’t understand. “It’s a little hard to explain.”

“Try us.” Dean cut in.

“Well since you don’t know me it’s going to a bit weird for you both.”

Dean nodded with placating smile “I’m sure.”

“Alright then, I’m the Doctor” He turned to stand before them, proud, and smiling “I am not from this planet, or really this universe rather, but I have decided that I rather like earth and have taken it under my protection. This,” he motioned with his arms stretched wide “what you see around you is my time machine and it is called the Tardis.” He paused “At least I think that’s what you told me I said.”

Dean and Sam blinked. After a moment Dean began to look around the machine while Sam’s mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to figure out what to say. The Doctor focused his attention on Dean. The way the hunter turned around in awe and looked at everything, it was all too obvious what he was about to say. “Go ahead, what do you think?”

Dean looked at him, then at the ship, and then back to him. He opened his mouth and really yelled “Son of a bitch! Are you serious!?”

The Doctor frowned “Well no one has ever said that before.”

“But you are serious; you really are a time traveler?” Sam walked forward. The Doctor nodded “A…time traveling alien?”

“ **Yes**.” The Doctor looked back at the controls. Now that that’s over can we please get a move on before another person dies?”

“Dies?” Both Sam and Dean said at once.

“Yes, I was looking for you because there is a case in London.” He raised an eyebrow “And I could use your help, if you’re interested.”

Dean and Sam looked at if they didn’t know what to say. “Great, off we go then.” He turned on his heel and was about to press a button when he stopped “Shouldn’t you notify your husband Dean?”

Dean sputtered as a soft blush came to his cheeks “My what? I don’t,” he glared at Sam, who was trying not to laugh “I don’t have a husband.”

“But of course you do. He’s- Oh right, past selves, first time meeting. So sorry! Off we go!”

The machine around them began to vibrate and make a strange noise. Dean and Sam grabbed into the railing as the Doctor looked upward at the fading flight that signaled the Tardis’ passage through time and space. When the movement and lights stopped, the Doctor waltzed over to the door and opened it up wide. He stepped out and took a deep breath of night air. “Here we are, good old London.” He then stopped and looked around. “Oh, it would appear that we’ve landed in a grave yard.”

Sam and Dean followed, stepping out of the Tardis and shutting the door. “Great.” Dean mumbled to himself, giving the headstones a wary glance. As the Doctor began to walk away Sam jogged to catch up “Shouldn’t you hide that thing better?”

“The Tardis?” the Doctor shook his head “Nonsense, I’ve never had a problem before.”

“Alright cheekbones, you wanna fill us in on what we’re up against?”

“Cheek bones,” the Doctor laughed “You haven’t used that one in long time, Dean.” He turned to see that Dean wasn’t laughing. “Right, well there have been a strain of killings recently and you boys need to help me catch the creature doing them.”

“What do you have so far.”

“From what I gather it’s a lady in white. You both have dealt with this before correct?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, couple years back. You sure it’s a lady in white?”

“Positive. No evidence has been at any of the crime scenes and I have it on good authority, or rather overheard a college, that this is a paranormal case.”

“That…doesn’t really sound like evidence.”

“Well, I’m a time lord so that should count for something. Especially since I know we met on a case about a lady in white ghost.”

“Ok, that I believe.” Dean looked around. He seemed a bit anxious and nervous at the unfamiliar surroundings. He remembered feeling almost the same exact way when Zachariah took him forward in time. A part of him wouldn’t have been surprised to see the word Croatoan written on the walls. As it was it seemed every time either he or Sam messed with time travel it never ended well. And now not only was this man an alien but he seemed to know them both quite well, which Dean didn’t think bode very well for the future. He spared a brief glance back at the Doctor. “So where do we even begin?”

“Do you know where she is buried?” Sam asked the Doctor.

“Not at the moment, but I know someone who does.” He pointed as he began to walk faster. They turned a corner and the three of them stopped to look across a street at an old pub. The sign above the place read Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. “Sher-I mean an associate of mine will be here shortly and he will lead us to the graveyard.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him “Keeping something from us, Doctor?”

“Just for the moment as you haven’t met him yet. Now come on, we can’t just be out in the open and all suspicious.” He looked around and then nodded toward a corner that was just a little ways down the street. Across from that was a café with a few tables. “There is a good place.” He then seemed to take notice of the café “I could go for some hot chocolate, what about you?” They walked and then sat down at one of the empty tables. “What do you boys want?”

“Um…nothing thanks.” Sam answered distractedly; he seemed as if he was trying desperately not to convince himself that he was out of his mind.

“We’re good.” Dean added as he watched the pub entrance.

“Suit yourselves, I’ll be back.”

They waited there. Minutes turned into hours and in the beginning it was just the Doctor talking animatedly about anything that seemed to fancy him, but even he seemed to grow bored and after a while quieted down and just swirled the remains of his hot chocolate in his cup. “I keep forgetting this is what time feels like for you. It’s so,” he released a withheld breath “boring.”

Sam laughed softly, finally relaxing enough around the other man, or alien he supposed, to begin to admire his quirkiness. “You said you know us. So after this mission, I guess, we go on other hunts with you?”

“Oh yes, though not this self but my younger self.” He chuckled “Oh the things we all do.”

“What do we do exactly?”

The Doctor shook his head “Can’t reveal the future and can’t change the past.” A sad smile played across his lips “No matter how much we wish we could. Those are the rules I’m afraid.” Sam regarded him for a moment before nodding, and if understanding what the Doctor meant.

They continued talking but Dean’s attention was completely focused on the pub. He watched as several people entered and left, but not even one of them seemed out of the ordinary. That was, until a young woman in a white dress left the bar with a man. They walked down the street toward Dean and he noticed almost immediately that there was something off about the girl. When she was facing the man her face seemed smiling and flirtatious, but whenever he looked away and down at his phone her expression changed. Her eyes almost looking like the black hollow sockets of a skull. When they turned sharply and went down and alley Dean lightly smacked his hand on the table “It’s show time.” He moved to get up but the Doctor grabbed his jacket sleeve.

“What are you doing? We are waiting to see where the grave is.”

“And that girl is the lady in white and she is going to kill that man!” Dean jerked his jacket out of his grasp as he ran for the alley.

“Dean!” Sam called after him and he and the Doctor got up and followed. They entered the alley just in time to see the woman wrap her arms around the man’s neck and look like she was about to give him a kiss. However, her eyes immediately turned to look at the three of them and before Dean could pull out his gun she was gone. The man yelped and then seemed to look around, bewildered as to where his ‘date’ had gone. “Charlotte?” The man called.

“Shit!” Dean yelled as he ran forward, passing the man, and down the rest of the alley to then turn the corner. Sure enough there was no trace of her. He almost growled as he turned around just as Sam and the Doctor rounded the corner. “You,” he pointed “If you hadn’t stopped me we could have had her!”

“I thought the whole point of that was to save the man?” The Doctor retorted.

“Where is she!?” came a loud yell from back down the alley. The Doctor turned and peered from around the corner.

“Ah, yes there we go.” He said as Sam and Dean followed suit, looking around the old brick wall.

A rather younger looking man in a thick black coat was yelling at the man who had almost just been killed. Behind him was an older but shorter blonde haired man. “S-She...,” he coughed “I don’t know who you mean.” The man in the coat was thoroughly aggravated by this.

“Listen, that woman is a predator to every last one of you cheating sods. Now if you don’t tell me where she ran off to I’ll be more then inclined to assume you are an accomplice rather than a potential victim.” The man flinched. “And don’t even bother trying to deny your infidelity. There is a tell tale un-tanned white circle around your ring finger and under your cologne is the subtle scent of peach orchard perfume, among numerous other obvious things.”

“I-I don’t know.” The almost-victim finally stammered. “She just disappeared.”

“So what now?” the blonde asked.

“We must go to the grave. Come along, John!”

“You know where the grave is?”

“Of course I do John. I wouldn’t just blindly run into a battle without considering all the possible outcomes.” The two men started to run down the alley and the Doctor ducked back around the corner and made frantic gestures for the brothers to follow him.

“Come on come on!” Then moved until they were hidden by a Laundromat entrance way. The two men came out of the alley and the one in the coat raised his hand, hailing a cab instantly. They climbed in as Sherlock nearly shouted the name of the cemetery to the driver. The cab then drove off.

Once the coast was clear the three of them came out of the shadowed entrance way. The Doctor turned, pleased with himself. “See, I told you I’d find out which cemetery it was at.”

“Well then we better book it before they get there first.” Dean growled “I don’t know who that was but they are both way out of their league.”

“I’ve got it.” Sam held out his phone. Apparently while the Doctor and Dean had been talking he had typed in the address and the directions were being displayed. Taking a look at the phone Sam then formed “It’s taking us back to the cemetery we were just at.” Both brothers look at the Doctor.

The Doctor grabbed the phone to look very closely at the screen “Well, so it is.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!?” Dean groaned as he grabbed the phone are started running. As the three of them raced the few blocks to get back to the cemetery, Dean called out “You couldn’t tell us we were already there!?”

“I didn’t know!”

“Didn’t know!? You know for a time traveler you seem to know a lot about the stuff that doesn’t mean anything, but the important details you _don’t_ _know_?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you always like this?”

“I don’t think I much appreciate your tone!”

They came to a dead stop at the front entrance to the graveyard. All of them were panting. “See, nothing to worry about. Besides, with London’s one way streets and all that, we were bound to get here before they did.”

Sam looked up just in time to see a yellow cab turn the corner down the street. “And that’s probably them, go.” They ran into the graveyard really in no particular direction.

“Please tell me you at least know what grave we are looking for?” Dean asked.

“Charolette,” The Doctor answered “I am very sure we heard the man say the name ‘Charolette.’”

“Fine, just look for a gravestone then.”

They began frantically searching from headstone to headstone until finally Sam called out “It’s here. I got it.” They gathered around and Sam brushed off the rest of the moss to reveal the name Charlotte McAlister.

“Great job Sammy. I just hope this is the right one.”

“Sherlock!” They heard someone in the distance scream.

The two brothers then looked at each other and then down at the ground. “You…wouldn’t happen to have some shovels in that phone booth would you?”

The Doctor cast them a look “It’s a police call box and no,” he extracted something out of his pocket and held it up. The long metallic like devise then opened to reveal a green light. “and we don’t need shovels.” He pointed it at the ground and the earth practically erupted. The ground seemed to swell up and then move to the side to settle in a small pile. The Doctor grinned “Never underestimate a sonic.”

Dean had to snap his mouth closed as he snapped back to the situation at hand. “Alright, we’ll deal with that later.” Sam jumped into the hole and opened the casket wide, covering his mouth as several moths escaped and the smell from within saturated the air. Dean took out the flask of lighter fluid he always kept in his jacket. He doused the body while Sam took out the matches and a small plastic container of salt from his jeans pocket, dusted the body, lit one match, and let it fall. The body erupted in flames and the echoes of a ghost screeching in pain could be heard.

“Great,” said the Doctor as he offered Sam and hand. “Now let’s go before we really do mess anything up.” He ushered them toward the phone booth and inside, shutting the door quickly and then racing over to the controls. The machine jerked once more and the lights flickered ominously. Even when the machine stopped, and everything was finally calm, Sam and Dean were still breathing hard.

“Right, well I consider that a mission well done.” The Doctor smiled.

Sam and Dean could only stare at him as they regained their breath. “You mind telling us **why** we were running away from those two guys?” Dean said in a tone that was beyond agitated.

“No, because the previous Doctor needs to introduce you. Not me.” He smiled as he walked past them and opened up the door once more. What greeted them was the sunny afternoon they had just left. “Now off you go. I even brought you back to the same time, Dean,  so your food wouldn’t be cold.”

The brothers stared at him and then very slowly began to walk forward and out of the phone booth. Once they were outside they looked around, seeing the playground and the impala just down the street. “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.” The Doctor gave one last wave before closing the door and then the whole phone booth began to fade, emitting that eerie sound again, until it was gone.

Sam and Dean stood there for a moment, not truly knowing what to do or say. They were quiet and motionless for a long while before Sam took a steadying breath and said “We should… probably call Bobby and say we found that…um, blue space ship thing.”

Dean closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face “Sammy… what just happened?”

“I think… I actually really don’t know.”

They looked to one another before Dean just turned and started walking toward the car, shaking his head “I need more fries, and a cold beer.”


End file.
